Dark Horse Harts
by iwgaaf30y
Summary: The Harts return from a trip to find their trusted houseman, Max, is missing. What all will they uncover and encounter as they try to bring their friend home? Will they find him in time? ***(A/N 3-27-2018: I am slowly working on updating existing chapters to improve the reading experience and add chapter titles. Updated chapters will be indicated with a note at the top.)***
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note (4/8/16): This story takes place about a year following the original show's cancellation - circa 1985 or 1986. It is intended to be in keeping with the show's original history.**

 **A/N (3/27/18): This chapter has been updated with better word flow and other grammatical corrections.**

* * *

 ** _Chapter 1 — Charter Field_**

The bright orange sky flooded through the window as the sun began its descent over the Pacific. The rays cast a golden glow over her face and enhanced the amber highlights in her hair. Jonathan was mesmerized. He watched as she squinted and adjusted her notebook continuing her task of editing her notes. She shifted position on the couch several times as it was getting increasingly difficult for her to find the right angle to sit without being blinded by the sun's bright glare. It was no use. Jennifer stopped fighting the sun and closed her notebook. It was at that moment that she sensed his gaze.

"You're staring," she said with a blushing grin.

"Hmm." His response was neither a sign of acknowledgement or disagreement, but rather an unconscious response to the sound of her voice. It had been a long day and he was simply enjoying the beauty and company of his wife. His eyes followed her as she worked at packing her notepad and pen into her bag.

"Jonathan," she took in a deep breath and stretched. "Where are we? I guess I've been working longer than I thought."

"Hmm?" This time his mind registered that she had asked him something. "I'm sorry, darling. What?" After a few seconds of processing he looked out the window and then at his watch, "We should be landing in about 45 minutes."

"Good." She continued poking around in her bag and pulled out her hairbrush. "I'm getting hungry."

Jonathan's eyes widened as a mischievous smile spread across his face. "I have just the cure for that." He rose from his seat at the cabin table of the Hart Industries Gulfstreem and migrated over to her on the couch. The back of his finger found delight in running a line along her thigh and up her arm as his lips grazed her collar bone.

"Darling, I think that will prove to _increase_ my appetite, not satiate it." She continued to tease the ends of her hair with her brush, feigning ignorance to his advances.

"Isn't that always the point?" He continued nibbling on her neck as he smoothly eased the brush from her hand.

"Did you say 45 minutes?" She smiled playfully and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Hmm…" His lips met hers in a deep embrace as they reclined into the couch.

 **H2H | H2H**

"Come on Freeway!" Max's gravely voice rang out as he walked through the open front door of the Bel Air estate. "We can't keep Mr. and Mrs. H. waiting. With the traffic this time of day we'll be lucky to make it to the airport before they land. Why did you have to spend so much time chasing after that golden beauty at the park? I know she has great breeding, but there's something to be said for subtle charm and playing hard to get."

Max always spoke to Freeway as he would any of his horse track buddies rather than the shaggy mixed-bread dog that he was. Freeway belonged to Jonathan and Jennifer Hart, but Max was a surrogate father in every sense of the term. Max was the Hart's trusted houseman, chauffeur, and long-time friend. He had known Jonathan from the time Jonathan was a teen, well before watching him blossom into the self-made millionaire he was today. _"Mr. H."_ as Max so endearingly referred to him was twenty years his junior, and Max had seen him through every milestone, good, bad, or otherwise since.

The Harts had been in Vancouver, British Columbia for two days and were returning tonight. Max had instructions from Jonathan to have the car waiting for them when their plane landed at the airport. Jonathan hadn't decided whether they would be going straight home from the airport or possibly heading somewhere special for dinner, so Max had prepared a fresh recipe of lobster bisque and put it in the refrigerator. He knew it was one of their favorite meals this time of year and could be heated up quickly. He and Freeway had eaten already, so they were good for the duration. Max placed his lit cigar between his lips, donned his driving cap, and ushered Freeway the Rolls-Royce. He laid Freeway's leash, the day's newspaper, and a book on the passenger seat and drove off down the quarter-mile winding driveway toward the main road.

As he exited the privacy gate of the Bel Air estate Max was unaware of a black sedan that was nestled just off the shoulder across and down the road a short way. He turned out of the drive on his way to the airport. The sedan waited for the Rolls to get beyond the first curve before pulling onto the road. The sedan driver kept a safe distance from the Rolls, but remained in its path for many miles. Once Max was outside of the residential area and traffic increased the sedan kept a closer tail. However, once Max finally reached the airport and entered the private gate of the charter field the sedan was no longer able to follow. The driver stopped the vehicle in a nearby parking lot.

The sedan driver's face was masked by a dark cap and sunglasses. He lifted the handset of the two-way radio and pressed the side button. "The package has been delivered," was all he said.

"Roger. The package has been spotted and we will see that it reaches its destination," was the response from the other end.

Max pulled the Rolls around to where he usually met the Hart's jet. He was relieved to see that it hadn't landed yet. He checked his watch as the ball of fur barked at his right arm.

"What?" he questioned.

Freeway gripped his leash in his teeth and looked up at Max with a soft whine.

"Now? I swear, you're as bad as a kid." Max hooked the leash onto Freeway's collar and opened the driver's door. "Let's make this quick. Mr. & Mrs. H. will be landing any minute."

Max and Freeway made their way around the side of the hangar to the grassy area near the fence. Freeway was sniffing around when he suddenly turned back toward Max and growled.

"What the—" That was all Max could get out before he was struck on the back of the head and everything went black.

 **H2H | H2H**

Jonathan and Jennifer deplaned and headed toward the Rolls. Jennifer was the first to notice Freeway sitting by the driver door. "Freeway! Come here boy," she patted her legs and sweetly called for her dog.

Freeway looked over at her and stood up on all fours, but he didn't attempt to move toward her. Instead, he turned toward the nearby hangar and began barking loudly.

"What's the matter, Freeway?" she asked. Her eyes grew wide as she turned toward her husband. "Jonathan, look at Freeway's leash. He's tied to the sideview mirror. Why would Max do that?"

"Something's not right, darling," Jonathan announced. He turned toward her with a furrowed brow and they both ran toward the car. "Max! Max?" He peered through the driver window but it was empty. "Where are you, Max?"

"Max!" Jennifer joined in. She untied Freeway's leash as they both continued to call out for their friend.

Just then an unmarked, gray van peeled out from inside the hangar and drove toward the airport gate. Jonathan attempted to stand in its path, but then quickly realized the driver wasn't slowing down and continued straight for him, so he jumped back and shielded Jennifer who had clumsily swept Freeway up into her arms.

"Darling!" Jennifer said with a start, "Who was that?"

"I don't know," Jonathan replied. "But, I want you and Freeway to get into the car and lock it. I am going to check things out."

"Jonathan, maybe we should wait a minute."

Just then an unmarked, gray van peeled out from inside the hangar at an alarming speed heading straight toward the airport gate. Jonathan attempted to stand in its path, but quickly realized the driver wasn't slowing down. The car barreled straight for him, so he jumped back to shield Jennifer who had clumsily swept Freeway into her arms.

"Mr. Hart! You folks alright?"

Jonathan pushed out his hand showing that it was okay to slow down. "We're okay, Frank. But, someone sure tore outta here in a hurry!"

"I noticed that from the cockpit."

"Our driver is missing." Jonathan shook his head almost forcing himself to believe Max was off doing something that made sense, but he knew that wasn't true. "He's just disappeared. I want to take a look around."

"Max?" The pilot finally reached Jonathan and stopped.

"Yeah. He's not with the car, and our dog was left tied to the car."

"I'll come with you," said Frank.

Jonathan accepted his offer and the two men rushed off to the open hangar. It was dark and quiet as they made their first glances around the open space. Jonathan called out, "Hello? Anyone here?"

They silently waited for a response but heard nothing. Frank yelled out, "Anybody here?"

As he crept along, Jonathan had no idea what he was looking for. He just kept moving and scanning the area. There was a small plane parked about 30 feet from where they were standing. Nothing stood between him and the plane, so he made his way around to the other side. "Maybe someone is inside that plane," he said to Frank.

"The cockpit is dark," said Frank. "I'd say it's doubtful that anyone is inside."

"You're probably right." Jonathan acknowledged. Just as he finished his sentence his foot slipped on something. "Whoa."

"Be careful, Mr. Hart," Frank said as he grabbed Jonathan's arm to steady him.

Jonathan looked down to see what it was that he slipped on. He bend down and picked up a half smoked cigar. He rolled it between his fingers and held it up to his nose. "It's still warm. I'd lay odds that it's Max's." He knew in his heart that it was.

"Do you think Max was in that van?"

"I don't know," said Jonathan with a perplexed look on his face. "But, if he is he's certainly not there by choice."

Jonathan's heart leapt when he heard her shout, "Jonathan!"

"Jennifer," Jonathan's eye grew wide. He looked at Frank and gasped, "Come on!" He darted off toward the Rolls.

When he reached the vehicle he was surprised to find it empty. His heart was racing as he scanned the area which was growing darker by the minute. Relief spread as he saw her gesturing for him to come toward her around the side of the hangar.

"Darling, what are you doing over here?" Jonathan asked frantically.

"Freeway was going crazy inside the car," she said trying to justify where she was, "so, we got out."

He nodded lovingly.

"He just kept barking and barking. Then, when we got out he ran straight over here. That's where we found this." She gently took Jonathan's hand and placed a gray driver's cap in it.

"Max is in trouble," he said as their eyes met.

"What is it?" asked Frank.

"It's Max's cap," said Jonathan.

"Are you sure?" Frank questioned.

Jennifer leaned her temple against his shoulder and wrapped her arms tightly around Jonathan's arm willing herself to believe things really weren't as bad as they seemed.

"It's his." Jonathan's voice was quiet.

Jennifer closed her eyes and squeezed his arm tighter. "Darling, there's blood on the inside band. And several hairs are matted into it."

"It's time to call the police," said Jonathan as he turned the cap to examine the band.

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 **A/N: Thank you for reading! If this is your first visit to my story, please share your thoughts.**

 **Those who are rereading to refresh your memory, please share your thoughts on the updated writing style. Other chapters will be updated soon!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N (3/27/18): This chapter has been updated to enhance the reading experience and correct some minor grammatical errors.**

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 ** _Chapter 2 — Finally Home_**

The Harts were still at the airport nearly two hours after their flight landed. When the police finally arrived, Jonathan suggested that Frank be questioned first thinking it had been a long day for their pilot and he deserved to get home to his family. After talking with the pilot the officers argued over how to proceed. They finally questioned Jennifer and Jonathan each separately. Jonathan was impatient, and his hovering presence was irritating the officers, especially after being told he was free to leave. But despite the hour, Jennifer was not surprised by his steadfast determination to make sure that no stone was left unturned in trying to figure out what had happened to his friend.

Jennifer tugged the lapel of Jonathan's suit jacket closer to her neck. He had lovingly draped the coat over her shoulders an hour earlier when he noticed her shivering. She was more nervous than cold, but the silky lining against her bare arms and the lingering scent of his after shave carried a sense of peaceful comfort and was serving to sooth her for the moment. An officer had tried to convince her to sit inside his squad car but she refused. She felt more at ease outside of the vehicle as she watched her husband argue with one of the uniform officers. Jonathan was insisting the officer take prints around the mirror and door of the Rolls and the officer was refusing to take orders from him. A newly approaching vehicle was her queue to return to her husband's side. The car belonged to Lieutenant Gray of the Los Angeles Police Department, a long-time friend of the Harts. He stepped out of the vehicle just as Jennifer reached her husband.

"Jonathan." The lieutenant said as he held out a hand to shake Jonathan's. "Mrs. Hart." He nodded in her direction.

"Hershel," said Jonathan, "I'm glad you're here. I can't buy a favor from any of your officers this evening." The officer who had been arguing with Jonathan observed the familiarity between the two men as Jonathan continued, "They don't seem to think the evidence warrants much investigation at this point." His demeanor was lighthearted, but nonetheless frustrated.

"I understand you think that Max has met with foul play," said Lt. Gray.

"I'm certain of it," said Jonathan.

After a brief, but informative discussion with the Harts, Lt. Gray assured them that an investigation would take place and he would personally oversee it. Then, he insisted they go home and get some rest as soon as his officer was done dusting their car for prints. He told them that he would be sure to contact them after his officers wrap up their work at the airport. The conversation put Jonathan more at ease and a few minutes later he and Jennifer climbed into the Rolls with Freeway and left the airport.

Once the Harts were on their way Lt. Gray shared with his officers that he wanted to look at all the evidence so he could determine whether they were looking at a possible kidnapping or something worse. He admonished the lead officer for not calling in the forensics team right away and then placed a call to his captain requesting permission to obtain a warrant to search the hangar.

 **H2H H2H**

It was late. Suitcases and shopping bags littered the foyer as Jonathan aimlessly paced the living room. On his third lap Jennifer warmly suggested they change their clothes and try to eat something. Despite continued unease, Jennifer appeared more comfortable in her silk robe and slippers when she made her way to the kitchen. She was warming up the crab bisque when the door from the living room swung open.

"Smells delicious, darling." Jonathan tried his best to smile as he entered the kitchen tying the belt around his monogrammed robe. He cupped his hands around her shoulders from behind and brushed his lips against her neck.

Jennifer reached back and touched her palm to his cheek. "It's just about ready. Can you get the bread?"

They picked at the contents of their bowls, each trying desperately to avoid saying or doing anything that might cause the other more worry. The attempt was unsuccessful, however, since every bite, in fact everything about the kitchen reminded them of Max. Both were suppressing thoughts that Max could be really hurt — or worse. When she noticed Jonathan staring sadly in the direction of the island Jennifer decided to try to lighten the mood by talking about Jonathan's business dealings from earlier in the day.

"So, I'm guessing we won't be heading back to Canada anytime soon." She commented.

"What?" Jonathan's mind was lost in thought, but the sudden sound of her voice found his ears even if they didn't really hear the words.

"I mean, I know you said things didn't work out as expected with your negotiations today, but I can tell that there is more to the story."

"More to the story?" He was still struggling to connect meaning with the sounds he was hearing.

"Darling, I know you. And, I don't mean just because you tell me everything. I know the things you don't say."

"Oh?" The fog was lifting and Jonathan was now intrigued.

"Of course. You're easy to read, darling," she winked.

"I'm easy to read?" His high-pitched chuckle eased Jennifer's heart slightly.

"For example, I can always tell when you consider a deal an average day at the ballpark or an unexpected win."

He watched intently as she played with the folded edge of her napkin and continued to share her insight.

"I can also tell when it's a negotiation that reached the bottom of the ninth with two outs and you suddenly hit that come from behind grand slam deal — and those kind of deals aren't necessarily sweeter because of their financial impact or what the company gained by them."

"They're not, huh?" The sparkle in Jonathan's eyes had returned as he was once again reminded of how very much he adored his wife's intelligent way of surprising him.

"Some deals are just sweeter than others. I can tell. It's a wife thing." Her eyes widened as her eyebrows bounced provocatively.

"Mmm." Jonathan curled his lower lip as his eyes smiled back at her.

"Mm-hm." she acknowledged his understanding. "I also know when things don't go quite as you'd hoped. Your meeting today ended early, and you said the deal wasn't going to go through. That doesn't happen often. But I could tell that something was off — more than just a simple change of direction. So tell me if I'm wrong, but it seems that today's meeting left you in a state of utter confusion."

Jonathan was glowing as he addressed his wife. "You're really something, you know that?"

Jennifer responded with a shrug and a sly smile.

"I mean it. You really are amazing."

"It's a gift," she smiled. "So, tell me, what happened today?"

"It was strange. You're right about that." Jonathan began telling her about his meeting with Bayside Technologies from earlier that day. "As you know, before we even left for Vancouver the deal was all but signed on the dotted line. Marcus had negotiated the contracts and all that was left were the final formalities. Yesterday went smoothly, and our tour of the facilities was good — no indication there would be any hiccups. Then this morning, things abruptly went south right as the contracts were about to be signed. No _'sorry, we've decided to go in a different direction.'_ No _'we need to have more time to look this over.'_ Nothing. Just goodbye. It was all very odd.

"I'm sorry, darling," said Jennifer.

"And, I'm not all that upset that we didn't acquire Bayside. I am upset that I wasted time with tours and meetings when I could have been spending time in the city with you."

They were drying the dishes as the intercom from the front gate buzzed.

"Who is it?" asked Jonathan, as he pressed the button on the intercom.

"It's Lt. Gray, Jonathan," said the voice coming through the speaker.

"Come on up." Jonathan pressed the button to open the gate.

The Harts had their arms wrapped around each others' backs as they met the lieutenant at the front door and invited him into their living room.

"Can I offer you a drink?" asked Jonathan.

"I really can't. I still have to go back to the station when I'm done here."

"How about some coffee?" asked Jennifer.

"Oh," said the lieutenant, his eyes widening to the idea. "If it's no trouble, I'd love some. Black."

"No trouble at all." Jennifer exited to the kitchen while the men sat down.

Lt. Gray shared what little was known about the investigation thus far, which wasn't much. He then offered his apologies for the way his officers treated Jonathan's concerns at the scene. He assured Jonathan that he considered the case high priority and that he would continue to oversee the progress.

Jennifer returned shortly with the coffee and sat down next to Jonathan. Freeway wandered over wanting to get up on the couch. She didn't have the heart to tell him no, so she curled her legs up onto the couch and patted the cushion. He leapt up, and she snuggled him neatly between her and Jonathan.

"Oh, Jennifer," said the lieutenant, "we were able to get a hit on the license plate number you gave from the van."

"Oh?"

"It is registered to a rental agency, so we will get more details once the agency opens in the morning."

"Well, it's a start." Jennifer yawned, then shook her head trying ward off sleep. The yawn slipped out unexpectedly as she didn't want Jonathan to think she was as tired as she was.

"Darling, if you want to head to bed—"

"I'm fine." She interrupted softly, patting her hand gently on his thigh.

Lt. Gray continued to ask questions about possible motives or enemies Max may have. Neither Jonathan nor Jennifer could think of anyone who didn't like Max. They certainly couldn't come up with a reason anyone might want to harm him.

"I'm fairly certain someone is using Max to get to me," said Jonathan. "Or, at least get to my money."

"I think we need to consider another possibility," Jennifer announced reluctantly to the group.

"What's that?" asked Jonathan while Lt. Gray studied Jennifer's face.

"I know you don't want to even think about this, darling. I don't want to either." Jennifer said reluctantly, "But, we need to consider that Max simply could have stumbled into foul play. I don't want to even think what could have happened to him if—"

Jonathan cut her off mid thought. "We're not going to think about that yet, darling. I am still convinced that we will hear from someone about terms very soon. Call it a hunch, but that's what I think."

Jennifer leaned her temple against Jonathan's shoulder and rubbed his arm in a reassuring manner.

"Well, if you're right, Jonathan, you should hear from someone soon," said the lieutenant. "That's why I'd like to install a trace and a listening device on your phone before I leave tonight. That way, if they call for a ransom we can monitor the call — record what they say."

"Sure." Jonathan got up and motioned toward the bar where there was a phone.

"And, if they do call, we will have a trace running on both of your incoming lines. I'm sure I don't need to tell you that if you do get a call try to keep them on the line as long as possible."

"Guess you know we've been through this drill before," replied Jonathan.

"Unfortunately," said Lt. Gray.

It didn't take long for the lieutenant to hook up the monitoring equipment. By the time he was finished Jennifer had fallen sound asleep. She was curled in a ball on the couch with Freeway nestled up close.

"You need to get that beautiful wife of yours to bed," pointed the lieutenant as he packed his tools.

Jonathan sighed and smiled as his eyes lingered on Jennifer for a moment. He allowed a brief thought to cross his mind as to how he had originally hoped their homecoming would go. "Yeah, I guess it's later than I thought."

"Well, I will get out of your hair for the night."

"Thank you for all you are doing, Hershel. It means a lot that you stopped by tonight."

"Listen," said the lieutenant, "Max is a good man and I know he means a great deal to you."

Jonathan nodded. "A great deal. I've known him almost as long as I can remember. He's family. I will do anything to see that he's brought home safely."

"I know. That's what I'm afraid of." The two men eyed each other for a moment. "Look. Whatever happens, please let me know before you go off and do something foolish on your own."

"Now Lieutenant," said Jonathan slyly, "I wouldn't do anything like that, would I?"

Lt. Gray just shook his head. "Goodnight Jonathan. Get some rest."

The men shook hands. Jonathan stood in the doorway watching as the lieutenant got into his car. After the engine started he waved and closed the door. He sighed and leaned back against the door thinking out loud, "Max, you've gotta be okay. We're gonna find you. I promise."

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 **There's much more to come! Reviews are welcomed and encouraged! This is my first H2H fanfic and I would love to know what you think.**


	3. Chapter 3

3

Jennifer woke suddenly from dreamless sleep. She was lying on her stomach with her arms wrapped around her pillow closer to Jonathan's side of the bed than hers. It was pretty typical that she woke up on his side of the bed, leaving more than half of their king sized bed empty. This morning was different than most, however. Where she typically was comforted by the warmth radiating from her husband's sleeping body she was greeted with a coolness from a lifeless pillow that had been strategically placed against her side. She stretched and rolled over, shielding her eyes from the bright sunlight that was sneaking through the slats of the window blinds telling her that it was much later than she expected to wake up. At first she was a little disoriented, but she quickly realized it was Saturday morning — it was the morning after Max had gone missing.

Grabbing her robe from the foot of the bed she got up to begin to search for her husband. One glance toward the dark doorway of the ensuite told her that Jonathan was definitely not showering or shaving or otherwise getting ready in there. She wondered how long he'd been up as she made her way through the double doors out to the hallway and then down the open staircase into the two-story open foyer. Once her robe was tied she checked her watch. It was nearly 10:30 a.m. The fact that Jonathan hadn't attempted to wake her by now was unusual.

"Jonathan?" Jennifer called out as she made her way into the living room. A quick scan of the room told her to keep looking. "Jonathan?" Again she called as she pushed through the swinging door and made her way into the kitchen. "Where is he?" She asked the house in general. She glanced at the coffee maker and noticed the pot was three quarters full. She walked over and felt the carafe. It was lukewarm at best, which meant that the pot had been sitting for quite a while. Then, she noticed a lonely coffee cup sitting on the table.

As she rounded the island toward the fireplace she heard the clicking of Freeway's paws as he made his way across the tile floor. He greeted her with a soft whine and a wagging tail. "Well, there's one of my guys," she smiled. "Good morning, baby." She bent down to pet him and give him a kiss. "Where's daddy, huh? Do you know?" She stood up and questioned again with more excitement, as if she was asking him to find his toy, "Where's Jonathan? Where is he?"

Freeway looked up at her, sneezed out a soft bark, and scampered off toward Max's suite. Jennifer followed him. As they reached the doorway to Max's bedroom Freeway stopped and sat back on his hind legs lifting and crossing his front paws as if pointing into the room.

Jennifer bent down and patted his head. Placing her finger up to her lips, she whispered, "You're such a good boy." She scooped him up and gave him a hug. There in Max's room was Jonathan lying part way across the bed, sound asleep. She decided at that point to take Freeway back out to the kitchen. "Let's get you some breakfast."

After she filled Freeway's bowl she told him to eat quietly and stay in the kitchen. The entire family treated Freeway as if he was a human, talking to him as if he clearly understood every word they ever said to him. Freeway acknowledged her again with a sneezing bark and then she crept back toward Max's room.

 **H2H | H2H**

About eight hours earlier Jonathan was lying in his bed staring at the ceiling. Jennifer was sleeping soundly, her head on his shoulder and her arm draped over his chest. He looked at the clock on his nightstand for the third time since going to bed. It was 2:43, exactly twenty-six minutes since the last time he checked. He let out a deep sigh and closed his eyes, willing his mind to shut down.

He had given up on trying to pry his left arm out from under Jennifer nearly an hour ago. Normally, sleep came easily when they were wrapped in each other's arms. But, what usually led to them being wrapped in each other's arms was an evening of playful conversation and kisses followed by a healthy course of love making and afterglow snuggling, which in turn led to content, hormone-induced slumber. Tonight, though, they were wrought with worry over Max, and when they finally reached their bed they reached for one another seeking a different form of comfort.

Jennifer had fallen asleep mid-sentence while softly tracing her fingers over his chest, trying desperately to calm Jonathan's intrinsic desire to fix everything. Jonathan's right hand had instinctively met her hand when she stopped moving and he'd been unconsciously rubbing his thumb back and forth over her fingers ever since. Suddenly, his thumb stopped moving. It was no use, he was just not going to fall asleep. After not moving for the previous hour, he finally took a deep breath and stretched from his toes up to his shoulders. At that movement Jennifer, too, stretched and rolled just enough for Jonathan to pull his arm out from under her. She didn't wake, but Freeway, who had been sleeping on the other side of the bed, rose his head.

"Sh," Jonathan advised Freeway, stopping him before he stepped on Jennifer in an attempt to make his way to Jonathan. He silently motioned for Freeway to get down using the foot of the bed. Then, Jonathan rolled to a sitting position and tucked his pillow under the covers, right up next to his wife. He kissed her gently on her temple, waited to see that she didn't stir, and then got up out of bed. Freeway sleepily made his way around the bed and followed.

The two made their way down to the kitchen. ' _Maybe some some warm milk will help,'_ he thought to himself. He opened the refrigerator and stared. "Oh, Max. I'd much rather be sharing a late-night beer with you," he said out loud as he noticed the cans sitting to one side. Max didn't drink much at home, but Jonathan knew that he usually had a beer after all the work was done on the nights he didn't go out. And, on the rare occasion Jennifer was out of town without him Jonathan would join Max in having one, usually while they played a round of gin. He closed the refrigerator. Milk wasn't going to cut it tonight. Beer was out. Even brandy, which usually helped to wind him down, didn't sound good.

He turned around and leaned against the island. ' _Maybe some decaf,'_ he thought. "It certainly can't make things worse," he said as he placed a fresh filter into the basket of the coffee maker. He looked down at Freeway and said, "How about you?" Freeway hung his head and walked over to his bed by the fireplace and whined. "I know, buddy. I know. I miss him, too. But, we're going to find him. Max will be home soon," Jonathan said trying to reassure himself as much as Freeway.

While he waited for the coffee to brew he reached into the cupboard and pulled out a couple of Freeway's favorite dog treats and gave them to him with little fanfare. Then, he poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down at the table. He sipped his coffee as he tried to organize his thoughts. But, for once, he really didn't have a clue where to start. He leaned his elbows on the table and hung his head in his hands. Freeway stretched to reach his paws up to Jonathan's lap, resting his muzzle against them with a whimper. Jonathan leaned down and kissed his head. "Oh, I love you, you sweet mutt," he said, blinking hard to avoid tears. "I just don't know where to start. But, we'll figure it out. Max is going to be okay. You'll see." At that he stood up.

His instinct was to head toward Max's bedroom. He didn't really know why or what he might do or find in there. He hadn't been in Max's bedroom in a while. He chuckled while remembering the last time. He and Jennifer had allowed Max to indulge in a bit of a fantasy, if you could call it that. Max had gone a bit overboard in suggesting to a wealthy, female pen pal that he was a wealthy businessman in an attempt to seem more on equal footing to her. He had met her by answering an ad in a magazine. When the woman showed up on the Hart's doorstep thinking the house to belong to Max they decided to play along with Max's story — they would play the role of maid and butler to Max, the millionaire. For a couple of nights Jonathan and Jennifer slept in Max's room while Max took over their master suite. It didn't last long, and after the Harts foiled an attempted robbery in their home by the woman's nephew, the woman came clean, admitting that she had lied to Max about being wealthy. She was only a cook who worked for a wealthy family. At the same time Max confessed his truth — he was only a cook, just like her.

Jonathan turned on the overhead light. He didn't really know what he was looking for. A quick thought was to look around for any signs that he may have overextended himself on a bet. ' _Could that be what this is all about?'_ But, without a word he shook his head and let that thought go. Max did wager a fair amount on the ponies every week and enjoyed a good poker game now and then, but he always used the same bookie for his bets, and he also had a limit on what he would wager. After all, if it hadn't been for Max's unrelenting and sometimes brutal insistence that Jonathan learn the value of an honest day's wage for an honest day's work (and vice versa), and that betting those wages was as good as throwing them down the sewer, Jonathan would never have made it off the streets of San Francisco. Max's number one rule when it came to placing bets was that he could only use unearned money. Earnings were for making a living, saving for the future, and improving your life and the the lives of your loved ones. Winnings weren't earnings, so they could be used to win more cash — only after making sure to first set some aside for those who are less fortunate. Certainly, Max hadn't broken his number one rule.

"Where are you Max?" Jonathan said as he thumbed through some papers on Max's desk. Under a pile of racing forms and magazines Jonathan saw something that looked familiar. It was an old photo album with a black cover. The black paper pages were bound together with the top and bottom covers by a string that was threaded down one hole and back up through a second along the left edge that was tied on top of the front cover. Jonathan smiled as he picked up the album and took it over to the bed. Inside, the pages were filled with small, square black and white photos, most surrounded by a thin, white border. Each photo was affixed to its page with small, brown corner tabs. As he carefully turned to the first page Jonathan recognized right away what this album was. He swallowed hard. His eyes began to sting.

" _Can you believe it?" Asked a tall, skinny, blond young man who was wearing a black graduation gown. "We're finally outta here."_

 _The young man was greeted with excited hollers and a couple high-fives. A group of five guys and two young ladies all wearing graduation gowns were patting themselves on the back and hugging one another as they slowly made their way across the memorial field toward the parking lot. Only the girls still wore their mortarboard caps, because they were cemented to their heads with bobby pins. Two of the guys were carrying their caps and the rest had lost theirs, after throwing them up in celebration at the end of the ceremony. There were at least four separate conversations going on among them simultaneously: "Who all is going to the party at Cheryl's parents' house out in Napa? It's going to be a gas!" "Michael, did you hear anything about your job interview in Seattle yet?" "Did everyone see that Frank finally got an article published in the Chronicle?" "Gene and Lois, will you hurry up and tell everyone when your wedding date will be, already? Will it be before Jonny and Alan have to report for Naval training in San Diego?" "Gosh, I'm going to miss all of you."_

 _As the group neared the parking lot the young man among them with the brown hair and bright blue eyes turned to the group and said, "Hey, I'm buggin' out for a bit. You guys hang loose and I'll check you later." His gown was unzipped revealing his navy sport jacket, yellow and navy striped tie, and tan trousers that were expertly pressed. The young Jonathan Hart waved good-bye to his friends and darted off into the parking lot. He slowed his pace as he neared the handsomely polished turquoise and white 1955 Chevy Impala convertible in the 3rd row. "Wait up, Max!"_

" _Hey kid, you looked terrific up there today," said Max as he made to get out of the Impala that he'd just climbed into. He looked very dapper wearing a tailored brown suit and black tie complemented by a brown felt, stingy brim fedora._

" _Thanks." Jonathan held out his right hand to which Max reciprocated. Jonathan shook Max's hand firmly and gripped his shoulder with his left hand. "Look at you all decked out. Did you really think that you were going to drive off without even a hello?"_

" _I know you're busy with your friends and all," Max said as if it was no big deal. "I can talk to you later. Go have fun. You've earned it."_

" _Max, wait." Jonathan touched both of his hands to Max's chest. "Stay right here. I need to get something. Can you wait for just a minute?"_

 _Jonathan ran off to a different section of the parking lot and stopped at a black 1950 Ford convertible. He reached into the back seat and pulled out a plain brown bag. Then, he made his way back to Max._

" _How many times do I gotta tell you," Max started in a fatherly tone, "if you ain't got nobody chasin' you, slow down." He put his hand up by his mouth as if to share a secret, "And, if a gorgeous dame is chasin' you, make sure you slow down and let her catch you." Max winked. "What's the rush, anyway? Life is meant to be enjoyed. Slow down and savor it."_

" _Okay," Jonathan chuckled. "But, I wanted you to have something," He reached into the brown sack and pulled out a wrapped box about the size of a shirt box._

" _You got me a present?" Max was taken back. "It's your graduation day and you're the one givin' me presents? Something ain't right with this picture."_

" _Don't think of it as a present. What I mean is, I guess it's sort of a present, but not really. My friend Lois said it should be wrapped, so she pretty much wrapped it." Jonathan was acting a little nervous. He had never given Max a gift before, and he didn't want it to seem like a big deal, even though it was. "I want you to have these. After all, you're the one who insisted on them being taken in the first place. I just, well, I guess I only kind of organized them. Lois helped. Gene too, sort of."_

" _Lois, huh?" Max smiled. "Is there something I should know?"_

" _You know Gene and Lois. Remember Gene? I went to his family's over Easter weekend. Lois has been his steady girl for over two years now. Remember?"_

" _I remember. I was just checking. You never know. My best friend stole my steady girl back in high school, and we'd been together for almost a year." Max took the box from Jonathan, reluctantly. "How many times have I told you not to spend your money on things for me? You're supposed to be saving that dough for your future. Besides, I didn't bring your graduation present today, because I wanted to give it to you on Sunday when we have lunch."_

" _I don't need any presents. You've already given me more than I deserve."_

" _Nonsense. Listen, every kid deserves a nice present when they graduate. I don't want no arguments. Only, you're gonna have to wait a few days for yours, though. Sorry."_

" _That's alright. And besides, like I said, this isn't so much a present." Jonathan leaned back against the car door beside Max and picked at his fingernail._

 _Max lifted the lid off the box. "Hey, it's one of them picture albums." Max had a soft smile on his face as he looked to his side. Jonathan was looking down at his fingers. "What is all this?"_

 _Jonathan continued to look down as he responded to Max, "It's no big deal. It's just copies of all the pictures you've been insisting I take over the past several years. You know you said I needed some pictures because, well...because I really never had any before." Jonathan sighed. "Anyway, every time I had film developed I had them print two copies of the pictures. I figured you might like to have them. Some are of things I did at school, not just times we did things together. I hope that's okay."_

 _Max was unable to respond with words. He was deeply touched. He opened the album and silently thumbed through the pages, giving Jonathan courtesy by not making a big deal about it at first._

 _The pages naturally fell open toward the middle of the album and just then Jonathan looked over. He pointed to one of the photos and said, "Remember that day? That was the day you took me to see West Side Story when the theater company came to San Francisco. You said I needed some culture. We went to Fior d'Italia for dinner before. That was the first time I ever had tiramisu. I never knew food could taste so good. We never had anything like that at Mission Street. I thought you were crazy asking that waiter to take a picture of us."_

" _I remember," Max nodded with a soft grin. "I can't believe you did this. This is great. Really thoughtful."_

" _I just figured," Jonathan paused and went back to picking at his fingernail, "who knows how long it will be before I make it back this way with flight school and everything. I don't know. The copies were just sitting in a box and I had originally intended they were for you. I think this is a better way of looking at them."_

" _It certainly is," said Max. "Thank you. Thank you. This really means a lot."_

 _Jonathan turned toward Max causing Max to look up from the album. "I need to say something," said Jonathan. "I owe you an awful lot. You and I both know that I would never be here, graduating from college, graduating from high school for that matter, if it weren't for you."_

" _You don't owe me nothin'," said Max._

" _Yes, I do," Jonathan continued. "I want you to know how much it means to me that you never gave up on this bozo. I mean it, I was a real punk when you first met me. I certainly never did anything to deserve all you've done for me. So, thank you. I don't know how I'm going to repay you, but one day I will."_

" _Geez," Max's eyes began to sting, "you never deserved to grow up in an orphanage with no family to love you and take care of you, neither. You're a terrific young man, Jonathan. Compassionate. Real smart. That was easy to see when I first met you. It's just you didn't know it. I only helped to show you who you really are. Who you are meant to be."_

" _You always sound like one of my professors when you call me Jonathan. Why won't you tell me why you don't call me Jonny like everyone else?"_

" _It's your name, isn't it?"_

" _Well, yeah."_

" _It's the one thing you know for sure that your parents gave you, your name." Said Max in a serious tone. "Be proud of your name. I just want you to respect who you are as much as I do."_

" _I'm trying," said a reluctant Jonathan. "You've always been straight with me. You've introduced me to more of life than I ever knew existed. You never let me get away with doing stupid things. I respect that more than you know," he said allowing his eyes to drift a little to the side. Then, he drew a deep breath and let it out. "I mean, you've treated me like family. It means a lot."_

 _The two men embraced like a father and son would. They ended by giving one another a firm pat on the back and then broke apart._

 _Jonathan stepped back so that Max could open his car door. "See you Sunday?"_

" _Definitely." Smiled Max. "Usual time?"_

" _Yep."_

" _This is beautiful," Max said holding up the album as he climbed into the driver's seat. "I absolutely love it. Thank you so much for putting it together."_

" _I'm glad you like it."_

 _Max drove off as Jonathan stood there waving to him. Once Max was out of sight he pulled his keys out from his pocket, lightly tossing them as he did so. As they came back down he gripped them tightly and confidently walked off toward his car._

"Darling," Jennifer whispered as she leaned over and brushed the hair off Jonathan's forehead with her finger tips. "Do you want some breakfast?" She kissed his cheek and allowed her lips to linger for a moment.

Jonathan was laying on his side facing away from her. At the sound of her voice he slowly turned his head toward her, but he didn't open his eyes.

"It's after ten thirty," she continued to speak softly. "But, if you're still tired maybe you should go up to our bed and cover up." Jennifer gently ran her hand down his arm and laid it on top of his as she rested her forehead against his.

"Morning darling," said Jonathan as he opened his eyes and slowly rolled over to face her. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"I didn't intend to fall asleep in here," he said. "I couldn't get my mind off of Max, so..."

Jennifer finished his thought, "So you thought you'd come down here to find something that might tell you where he is." As she spoke she climbed the rest of the way onto Max's bed and laid down beside her husband.

"Something like that." He turned and gently guided her arm around his waist.

"Were you successful?"

"No. There's really nothing…nothing out of the ordinary that I can tell." He pulled her closer and placed a gentle kiss on her neck. "How did you sleep?"

"I must have been exhausted. I only woke up a little bit ago," she said as she brushed her fingers against Jonathan's cheek.

"I'm glad one of us could sleep, at least." He guided her chin to meet his with his index finger and his lips met hers. His kiss was slow and tender. He gave a second quick kiss before speaking again, "I'm sorry I wasn't there when you woke up."

"Don't worry about that," she smiled lovingly. "I'm glad you were able to sleep, even if it had to be in here. What time do you think you fell asleep?"

"I don't know. I know it was about three o'clock when I came in here." He stretched his neck to look over at the clock on the nightstand. "But, I don't remember laying down.'

"Well," Jennifer's tone was more perky as she rubbed her hand up and down Jonathan's arm, "one of us should probably get some breakfast around. Are you hungry?"

"Now that you mention it I am kind of starving," Jonathan nodded.

"Eggs and bacon?"

"Sounds great."

"What's this," she asked as she noticed the photo album lying on the bed.

"I'll show you over breakfast."


	4. Chapter 4

4

" _Wait! Stop!"_

 _He heard the ringing of the bell and the loud clank as if a thousand metal bars had slammed together at once. He was hurling through the air, but yet could feel something fairly solid underneath his body. The sea of darkness that surrounded him was suffocating. He tried to reach out to grab something. Anything. It was no use. He couldn't move his hands._

" _Stop!_

 _It was thundering all around him. Was he falling? He couldn't tell. It felt like it. If he could only open his eyes. The thunder was familiar, but he couldn't place it._

" _What's happening? Help!_

 _It was a blind balancing act. Somehow he knew that if he moved in any direction his body would suffer immeasurable pain. It felt as though he was lying on the wing of a moving airplane, and he was slipping._

" _Somebody! Anybody!"_

 _He still couldn't move his hands. If only he could wrap his arms around the wing — grab hold of the edge. It was no use. The more he tugged his arms the more contorted his whole body became. It was becoming more and more difficult to breath. He coughed, but the air from his lungs was trapped and causing him to choke. Panic overtook him and he was suffocating. The more he tried to breathe the harder it became and the more he needed to cough._

' _Lay still,' he thought. Out of nowhere it occurred to him that his own movement may be causing the turbulence. He forced himself to be still. As he calmed his body his breathing improved. 'What is that sound?' He concentrated on the thunder. The sounds became more familiar. It wasn't thunder. It was a sound he knew— furious, yet muted. Ongoing, yet spreading out and becoming more distant in a way._

 _Again, he tried to open his eyes. Or, maybe they were already open — he was extremely disoriented. Was he sitting up? Was he lying down? He was confusing himself. Continuing to concentrate on the noise it was becoming more clear._

' _It definitely ain't thunder,' he thought. Why hadn't he recognized it from the start? He was at the horse track. The race had started. Was his horse winning? Did he place his bets?_

 _Wait._

 _His eyes weren't closed. They were wide open. Panic returned! He wasn't just at the track. He was in the race. He was riding. But, he'd never raced a horse before. Ridden a horse, sure. But not raced one._

" _What the hell's going on?" He tried to reach for the reigns and once again remembered that he couldn't move his hands. Where were his hands? He couldn't grab the reigns! His horse was out of control, and there was nothing he could do. His horse was heading straight toward the rail. He was slipping._

" _No! Stop! Stop! Whoa! Stop!"_

"Shut him up," barked a voice from behind the door.

Max was laying on his side facing the wall on a bare bed in the corner of a dark and sparsely outfitted bedroom. The single window on the wall opposite the door bore faded, striped curtains which were drawn together allowing only a sliver of morning light to trickle through. As he opened his eyes he realized it was all a dream. He tried to lift his hand, wanting to rub his eyes and wipe his brow. It was then that he remembered that his hands were tied behind his back. As he shifted to find a more comfortable position he felt a nudge on his shoulder.

"You need to keep it down, huh," said a short, bald man through discolored, crooked teeth. His clothes looked as if he had slept in them for several days. As he moved about the room his head occasionally jerked to the left and as it did his left eye would twitch. He lifted his hand to scratch the uneven stubble on his cheek revealing a tattoo of a skull with a hatchet wedged into its temple on his forearm. His request was rather calm and hushed despite his rough appearance.

"I didn't say nothin'," said a defeated Max, his voice deep and gravelly. He turned his head attempting to get a glimpse of the man, but winced when he felt the sharp pain above his ear.

"You musta been dreamin'," returned the bald man.

"Yeah," Max sighed.

"Didn't sound too good."

"Wasn't."

"Probably ain't a good idea to have that dream again. Boss is in a bad mood."

"Like I have a choice what I dream." He grumbled. At that moment he honestly felt he would much rather be at the race track racing a horse, blindfolded with no hands than spend another minute in a room with this guy.

"How's your head?" the man's question sounded sincere.

"I could go for a Bloody Mary," he mumbled indistinguishably.

Just then the bedroom door opened startling both men. A man entered the room. He looked out of place for the decade in tight-fitting, high-waisted, brown and gold plaid polyester pants and an orange, red, and black wide-collared shirt that was open except for the bottom button. His hair was long, dark and bushy, but receding and thinning dramatically on the top. With his large, tinted glasses he looked to have stumbled out of a 70's disco party.

"H-hey boss," stuttered the bald man. "You're up early."

The disco-clad man ignored the comment from his subordinate. Instead, he gestured with his head toward the door ushering the man out of the room. The bald man nodded and his eyes volleyed back and forth between Max and the other man as his head and eye twitched several times. He left the room without a word.

"Shut the door!"

The bald man poked his head back into the room and sheepishly responded, "Sorry boss. W-won't happen again." He quietly pulled the door closed and retreated to a different room.

Max tried to turn his head to watch the exchange between the two men, but again was impeded by the pain above his ear.

"Hiya Maxie," said the remaining man. His nasally, high-pitched voice seemed as out of place as his clothing choice. "How's tricks?"

Max closed his eyes and sighed. Even his sigh sounded gravelly.

"What I mean is, ain't it a beautiful day?" He pulled one panel of the curtains open, revealing a gray, cloudy sky. He laughed at his own sarcasm.

"Who're you?" Max remained staring at the wall.

"Oh Maxie, Maxie. All in good time. All in good time." The man pulled a chair up beside Max's bed. He set it down facing away from the bed, but sat down in it backward, facing the back of the chair and Max.

Max only grunted quietly to himself. His eyes were closed, but they were rolling.

"Now then," the man continued his sarcastic tone, "You've had a helluva night. Can I get'cha some breakfast?"

"Not hungry." Max continued staring at the wall.

"Now, now. You're gonna need your strength."

Max didn't respond.

"Where's that million dollar smile?" the man continued.

Max closed his eyes. He'd like to belt the guy sitting over him, but the ropes binding his hands were unrelenting.

"Where are your manners? I'd've thought you of all people'd remember your manners." The man kept up his verbal jabs at Max.

"Whad'ya want?" Max finally barked back. His voice was still deeper and more gravelly than usual.

"No need to get grumpy," said the man, not letting Max's tone phase him. 'I just wanted to check out that million dollar smile up close and personal like. Get a real good look, if you know what I mean."

"What're you talkin' about? Million dollar smile? Sheesh."

"Don't tell me Boy Wonder has gotten stingy. He not give you a dental plan?" He shook his head and snapped his tongue against the roof of his mouth a few times. "Probably charging _you_ to work for _him_ now. Such a shame. Ruinin' that master game plan of yours, ey."

"Someone get this clown outta here." Max's head was pounding and he was tired of the game. "I don't know what your game is, but I'm not playin'."

"This ain't no game." The man pulled a knife from his pocket and opened it. It had a clip point blade with a partially serrated edge. A sinister smirk grew across his face as he turned it back and forth in his hand. He was dangling it just above Max's wrists, but Max had no idea. "I ain't playin' no game."

The man suddenly stood up and yanked the chair away from the bed. Then, he walked back to Max and bent over him placing his lips right next to Max's ear. "If you have any intention of getting out of here alive you're gonna do everything I say. Kapish?" Then, he held the knife down in front of Max's face about an inch away from his nose with the blade facing Max. "See this? One wrong move and it's all over. I don't wanna have to use it, but if I have to…"

"I get it," Max remained still. He contemplated what to say next, but before he could say anything the man spoke again.

"Time to sit up." The man grabbed hold of Max's forearm. "Hold still." He was insistent as he said, "I mean it. Hold still." Then, he carefully slid the knife between Max's wrists and cut through the layers of rope that were holding his wrists together in one smooth stroke. He did the same with the rope that was tied around Max's ankles.

Max stretched out his arms as he slowly rolled onto his back. His wrists were sore but as he inspected them and rubbed them for comfort he saw no physical signs that the rope had caused skin irritation.

"Sit up!" the man ordered.

Max slowly rolled to a sitting position. Being only a mattress on top of an old spring frame the bed was low, so his feet sat flat against the floor.

The man wore a sinister smile and played with his knife blade as he addressed Max. "Here's what you need to know: You're gonna be locked in here a while. There's a bathroom through that door. He pointed at the door opposite the bed. Don't worry, ain't no windows in there, and there's an alarm rigged on the window in here, so don't be planning an escape. Won't work." He gestured with the knife as he continued, "You'd find your journey's end most unpleasant."

Max looked around the room as the man talked. His head was throbbing even more due to his change in position, but he didn't let on. "A real Waldorf Astoria," said Max in a flat, hoarse tone.

"Sure." The man paused for a moment, then sarcastically continued, "Just call me William Waldorf Astor." He laughed at his own wit.

Something about the laugh seemed oddly familiar to Max. He couldn't place it, yet he knew he'd heard that laugh before.

"Geez Maxie, you look terrible."

Max sighed and shook his head. It was obvious he was hurting, and yet he was doing all he could to appear indifferent to what was happening. "What do you want, anyway?"

"What's the matter, Maxie? You sound troubled."

"Small wonder," Max mumbled under his breath.

"What's that? Couldn't hear ya Maxie." The man laughed again.

' _What's with calling me Maxie?'_ Max kept thinking as the man spoke. But, when the laughter started again, the combination of the laughter and being called Maxie caused an odd sense of deja vus to strike. "You've gotta be kidding me," he said looking the man rightly in the face for the first time. "Tricky Dicky? I thought I recognized that voice. It's you, Dicky, isn't it?"

"Ah! Thought maybe you'd forgot about all us lowly commoners." The man's tone turned more more cynical. "After all these years cruisin' with Mr. Big Shot you haven't forgotten — what, with all the hob nobbin' and fancy cars and jettin' off all over the world and all? And, it's Richard."

"What gives?" Max had regained his inner resolve. Although he was certainly not at full par, he was definitely ready to put up a fight to save himself. "Why the hell d'you club me over the head and drag me here?"

"You'll know what I want you to know when I want you to know it." said Richard. "First, I've got a phone call to take care of."

"If you think you're gonna use me to get to Mr. H you're sorely mistaken."

"Mr. H? That's what you call him these days? How very _gentleman's gentleman_ of you?" Richard couldn't contain his laughter. "You really have gone gaga over that loser, haven't you? Makes me wanna puke right here."

Max's only response was an expression that clearly said, " _you've gotta be kidding me.'_

"Roll your eyes all you want. Who's holding all the cards here?" Richard made his way toward the door. "Besides, I don't need you in order to get to your precious Mr. H."

Richard left the room and immediately bolted the door shut from the outside.

 **H2H | H2H**

The Harts had finished breakfast and were sitting together on one of the living room couches. Earlier, during their meal, Jonathan told Jennifer about the photo album he'd come across in Max's bedroom. It had been a long time since she'd seen them, but Jennifer was familiar with the photos, because Jonathan had an album that was nearly an exact replica that he'd made at the same time he put together the one for Max. Jennifer was now admiring a picture of Jonathan and Max who were standing on a rocky mountainside with a giant waterfall as their backdrop. It was one of several photos from a visit to Yosemite National Park that Max took Jonathan on when he was eighteen. She ran her finger along the edge of the photo as the phone rang.

The phone had not rung all morning, and they had both become quite anxious. The ring slightly startled each of them and their first response was to turn toward one another. Jonathan spoke first.

"I'll get it, darling," he said as he gave her hand a squeeze.

Jennifer took a deep breath as she tried to give him a reassuring smile. As Jonathan stood she glanced upward and brought her hands together into her lap.

"Hello, this is Jonathan Hart," said Jonathan as he picked up the receiver.

A lady's voice responded on the other end, "Jonathan, I'm sorry to call you at home. I didn't know what else to do."

"Mary Sue?" asked Jonathan, prompting a questioning look from Jennifer.

"I just, well, I don't want to bother you, but…" her voice cut off in an obvious swell of emotion.

"What's the matter?" Jonathan asked. His tone caused Jennifer to stand up and walk over to him. As she walked over Jonathan shrugged his shoulders giving her an unspoken indication that something was wrong, but he didn't know what yet.

"It's Marcus," said the woman on the other end of the phone.

There was a lengthy pause. Jonathan reached for Jennifer's hand. Something was definitely wrong.

"What's this about Marcus?" asked Jonathan. He could hear sniffling on the other end, but there was no response. "Mary Sue? Are you still there?"

"Yes," Mary Sue finally responded. She cleared her throat and continued, "I'm here. I'm sorry." She took another deep breath before sharing, "I need to let you know that Marcus is in the hospital."

"Oh dear," said Jonathan. "What's happened?"

"The doctors aren't sure yet. He collapsed last night after we got home from the airport. They ran a bunch of tests overnight and are just about to do an MRI. They've ruled out heart attack. Suggested stroke. Their main concern is that he hasn't regained consciousness." She stopped talking again.

Jonathan broke the silence. His voice was very tender as he asked, "How are you holding up?"

"I'm okay."

"Have you had any sleep?"

"Not really," she replied.

Jennifer leaned her head on Jonathan's shoulder. She knew the news wasn't good, but she wasn't going to ask any questions until the call was over. Jonathan then let go of her hand and put his arm around her shoulders.

"Have you been at the hospital all night?" Jonathan asked.

"The doctor tried to get me to go home for a few hours, but I just can't leave until I know what's going on."

"I understand," said Jonathan. "What can Jennifer and I do to help?"

"You're so kind," said Mary Sue. "I really don't need anything. I just needed to tell you that I don't know how long Marcus will be out of the office. I just hope he will be able to return…" she could no longer contain her emotions as she broke down in sobs.

"Mary Sue?" Jonathan returned after a slight pause. "Do you have someone there with you?"

Mary Sue once more cleared her throat and sniffed. She was able to respond calmly, "My daughter, Sandy, is here. Our son, Thomas, is flying in from L.A. this afternoon."

"Good. Good," Jonathan nodded and squeezed Jennifer a little closer. "Don't worry about anything at the office. I will contact everyone that needs to be contacted. You just take care of yourself, and allow your children to take care of you, okay?"

"Jonathan, you know me too well," said Mary Sue. "I promise I will let my kids help me."

"I'm glad you promised." Jonathan chuckled softly. "And remember, don't worry about the office. Once you've learned more, and only after you've had a chance to rest, give us a call and let us know how Marcus is doing."

"I will definitely keep you informed."

"But, only after you've had some rest and spent some time with your family," said Jonathan. "We will certainly be keeping Marcus in our prayers."

"Thank you so much, Jonathan. Marcus respects you so much and loves working for you. And, you and Jennifer are such dear friends," Mary Sue shared.

"The feeling is mutual," said Jonathan.

"I'd better go. Good-bye for now," said Mary Sue.

"Bye," said Jonathan.

As he hung up the phone Jennifer asked, "Is Marcus okay?"

"I don't know," said Jonathan as he turned to face his wife. "He collapsed last night after they got home. He's still unconscious."

"What does the doctor think?"

"They're still trying to figure things out," said Jonathan. He reached for Jennifer with both arms and pulled her into a tight embrace. "This is just so...I just can't believe all that's happening."

Jennifer held onto him as tightly as he was holding onto her — as if for that one moment they could wish away all of the pain and suffering that was taking place around them. As she held him she could feel the tension in his body release slightly. He leaned the side of his head into hers and kissed her gently through her hair before releasing.

"He seemed perfectly fine when he and Mary Sue left for the airport yesterday," said Jonathan.

"Some things are just unpredictable," said Jennifer. "I know you want to look for some kind of sign, something you may have missed. Don't do that to yourself, darling."

"I know," said Jonathan. "I'm not. It's just that when they left to head back to New York and we went back to the hotel everything seemed just great. Marcus was fine. Max was fine — I called him to tell him when we would be leaving and he was fine."

"Sh-sh-sh." Jennifer rubbed Jonathan's arms trying in some small way to ease the guilt she knew he was feeling. "Jonathan, this is not your fault. There is nothing you could have known or done to prevent either of these terrible incidents."

"Maybe I depended too much on Marcus in this stupid Bayside deal," said Jonathan. "He's got a lot to handle running the New York office. This was probably just too much."

"Darling, he's been running different departments of Hart Industries for years. What would you have done — asked him to cut back his dedication to the company or to you? And how would he have responded? He would think you were unhappy with his performance or no longer trusted him. And you trust him implicitly. You trust him above anyone to run the entire company in your absence."

"I know, darling. I know. I just hate all this waiting." He looked at his watch and sighed heavily. "When is someone going to call about Max?"

Jennifer sighed in return. "I know this is just about the hardest thing, but we're going to have to trust that no news is good news — or at least not news to dread."

Jonathan reached out for her hand once more and pulled it to his lips. He closed his eyes and placed a gentle kiss along the back of her fingers as a tear fell onto the back of her hand.

"Do you know how much I love you?" he asked.

"Yes," she smiled. Her eyes glistened as tears pooled along her lower lids. "I love you, too."

He kissed her fingers once more before letting go. "I need to call New York," he said as he turned back to the phone. "At least that is something I can do to keep busy."

 **More to come!**

 **While you wait for more, share a review. I'd love to hear what you think.**


	5. Chapter 5

5

 **Thank you for hanging in during this posting drought. I promise that I will get the full story up. It's just taking way longer than I had originally intended. Life is crazy busy.**

There was a knock on the door. Max winced at the sound in his semi-conscious state. His head was throbbing, and moving too quickly was making him nauseous. He made no effort to acknowledge the knock.

The shorter, bald man poked his head in quietly.

"Brung you a sandwich - pastrami on rye. There's mustard, but we're outta pickles. There's also some asprins in this here bottle. Thought you should maybe oughta take some. Your head don't look so good if you don't mind me sayin'.

"Thanks," Max said softly. He didn't make any effort to get up.

"You really oughta take the aspirins and eat something.

"Just leave it on the night table. I know it's there," said Max. "I'll get it if I want it."

"Okay." The man sized up the night stand and finally set the food tray down. It didn't fit all that well, but he slid it on enough that it shouldn't slip off.

"Thanks."

The man stood looking at Max for a moment.

Max could sense that he wasn't content just leaving the food and walking out. "You waiting for a tip or somethin'?" Max asked sarcastically. "You definitely ain't no bell hop bringing me room service."

The man's head and eye twitched a couple of times. "No. I mean, it's just...I think you shouldn't be sleeping so much. I think that's what they say about concussions - keep'em awake. I think maybe I should ought'a look at your eyes or somethin'. There's somethin' about the eyes that you can tell when there's a concussion."

"You ain't looking at my eyes," said Max, firmly. "I'll be fine."

"It's just," the man looked concerned, "the boss don't want nothin' bad to happen to you. I mean, I'm pretty sure he don't. He just needs..." He stopped talking abruptly.

Both men could hear Richard barking out something indistinguishable from somewhere nearby.

"Okay," the man's head twitched twice in succession, "I'll just leave this here tray and check on yous later." He turned and quietly opened the door. He looked both ways before he left the room and pulled the door shut behind him.

Max slowly sat up. He eyed the aspirin bottle. He knew he needed to take some. He also knew he should eat the sandwich. As stubborn as he'd like to let on to his captors he still knew deep down that he needed some nutrition in order to get through this ordeal.

"Come on, Max," he said softly to himself as he slowly rolled to a sitting position. "Whoa," he sighed heavily, and almost fell back over.

He steadied himself with one hand on the bedside table and the other covering his forehead. As he reached for the bottle of aspirin he heard Richard's voice. It startled him, because it sounded as if he were sitting right beside him.

"I assume you've taken care of your loose end." Max heard Richard say. Max looked around trying to figure out where the voice was coming from. Then, he heard it again. "What do you mean he's still alive?"

Max gulped. Was Richard talking about him? It took him a moment to finally be able to hold his head up with his eyes open. The throbbing was constant but bearable. As he focused on the sound he realized that the voice was coming through an air vent that was above his head on the wall. He determined that it was in his best interest to be as quiet as possible, so he opted not to lift the aspirin bottle. He did, however, pick up the sandwich and took a bite. After all, he thought, it wasn't the best idea to take aspirin on an empty stomach, even if it was his last meal.

Richard's conversation continued, "I told you to put a bullet in him, not poison him."

Max spit out the chewed bits of sandwich left in his mouth.

"I don't want excuses," Richard said after a moment of quiet. "Withers must be eliminated. He knows too much! You're the one responsible for that."

Max let a soft sigh of relief pass his lips when he heard the name Withers — relieved to know that he wasn't the target of this particular poisoning — although, he did hesitate taking another bite. He desperately wished he could hear what was being said on the other end of the conversation.

"I don't care what you do. If Withers comes to and breathes one word to Hart you're gonna wish you'd taken the poison yourself!"

Max perked up when he heard "Hart." His momentary sense of relief came to an abrupt end. He stopped breathing as if that might help him hear more clearly.

"No, you listen to me, Peterson," said Richard, "no more excuses. Take care of Withers and get me those access codes. Time's up. You need to access those funds now, or let's just say that you won't need to worry about anything anymore. I'll make sure of that.

Though Max's head was barely up to the task of making any sense of what he was hearing he suddenly realized that he needed to pay better attention. "Withers," he thought through a whisper. "Withers?" Then, Richard interrupted his concentration.

"For the last time..." his words broke off.

Max heard a loud thud through the vent followed by Richard yelling through gritted teeth, "Ouch! You will get me access to those Hart Industries funds today, dammit! No excuses! You hear me, Peterson? If Withers wakes up you know your security clearance won't even get you into the wash room, never mind the CFO's office." Then Max heard what sounded like the phone receiver slamming down and Richard yelled, "Rhonda! Get your damn yoga crap outta my office!"

A high-pitched woman's voice yelled back, "What's the matta' baby?"

Richard mumbled something under his breath and then his voice trailed off. Max could tell by the sound trail that he had walked out of the room.

"Peterson? Withers? Hart Industries funds?" Max spoke softly to himself. His mind was racing, which was difficult because of his head injury. Despite the difficulty, Max found the mental challenge stimulating, as if he was finally waking from hibernation. "Withers…Executive VP Withers?" Max shook his head. "I gotta warn Mr. H."

He looked around, but his movement proved to cause more dizziness and a return of his pain. He finally steadied himself and picked up the aspirin bottle.

 **H2H | H2H**

"Whatever you need," said Jonathan. He was standing near the desk in the living room talking on the telephone. It was the fourth phone call he had made in the last forty-five minutes.

After a brief pause he continued, "Frank will have the Hart jet fueled and ready. They have your name at the field gate and expect you around noon tomorrow. Marcus' secretary, isn't expecting you until 10 AM Monday morning. I want you to relax after you get there, tomorrow."

Jonathan nodded his head a few times and continued his conversation, "Right. I'll call you Monday around 3 PM for an update."

He had walked as far as the phone cord would allow before turning back toward the desk.

"Okay. Have a good flight." He hung up the phone and turned to see Jennifer standing there with a fresh cup of coffee.

"Here you go," she said as she handed the cup to him.

"Thanks," he sighed.

"Did you get things squared away with Clayton?"

"Yes." He affirmed her question but his mind seemed fifty miles away.

"Will Judy be going with him?"

"Whatever you want." His daze continued as he absentmindedly sipped the coffee.

"I didn't know that I had so much pull when it comes to your executive's wives' decisions," she smirked, recognizing his distraction.

"That's okay."

"I'm sure the Martians will meet him when the spaceship lands on the Death Star," she mused.

"Mm-hm."

"Jonathan?"

"Hm?"

"Jonathan!"

"What?"

"Where are you?"

His eyelids drooped and his cheeks were lifeless as he responded, "I'm sorry, darling. What were you saying?" He put the coffee cup down on the desk.

"I was just asking about Clayton's plans and whether Judy will be going with him." She didn't give him time to respond. "Darling, you are exhausted. You need to take a break."

"I'm fine." He lifted his wrist to look for the time but realized his watch was still lying on his nightstand in the bedroom.

"It's quarter after two." She took hold of his hand before it could fall back at his side and laced her fingers in his. "Jonathan," she said, closing her eyes and leaning her forehead into his chest, "Stop."

"I need to call Lt. Gray."

"You need to take a nap."

"Darling…"

Jennifer interrupted, "No." She looked up and gently placed the index finger of her free hand on his protesting lips. "He's going to say the same thing he said an hour ago — _he_ will call when there is news. Listen, I am just as worried about Max as you, but right now there is nothing we can do except wait."

"I feel so helpless. I mean, I need to go out and find him, but I don't even know where to start."

"I know. And if we knew where to start, you know I would be right there with you, but we don't."

"So, I need to find out if the police have any new leads."

"You need to come upstairs with me," she said as she started walking toward the stairs without releasing her fingers from his.

"Jennifer." He attempted a half-hearted protest by stopping at the bottom of the stairs.

She was already on the first step, but turned around. "Jonathan." She tilted her head and gazed lovingly into his eyes. "What am I going to have to do to get your mind off of the investigation for an hour?"

"I thought you wanted me to nap," his tone finally turned slightly playful.

"I do." She leaned in and gave him a quick kiss, then turned back around continuing to make her way up the stairs. "And you will — eventually."

Jonathan no longer had any desire to resist and followed her up to the bedroom. He knew she was smiling and for the first time all day he was, too.

Jennifer was mumbling something indistinguishable as she gave her toothbrush a quick workout. She couldn't believe it was half-way through the afternoon and she hadn't brushed her teeth yet. "Iss yuss so umussu."

"I can't understand you through the toothpaste," Jonathan grinned.

She spit and tapped her toothbrush against the side of the sink. "I just can't believe how late it is and we haven't even gotten around."

"Weren't you the one who just suggested we go back to bed?"

She tapped her finger against the tip of his nose with a stern face, "Sí. Es hora de la siesta. ¡Vamonos!" She placed a playful swat on his robe-clad fanny then tugged on his belt.

Jonathan laughed out loud which brought a sense of relief and calm to Jennifer.

"What's this, the Spanish prison guard? I prefer the French hotel maid," he laughed again.

With seamless accent transition she playfully responded, "Monsieur, il est temps de se déshabiller. Rapidement!"

He pulled his robe off in a single fluid motion letting it fall in a heap on the bathroom floor. Reaching toward her he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close. She gazed innocently into his eyes as he spoke, "You are so amazing."

"I know," she teased.

Her gaze moved from his eyes to his lips as he pulled her closer. As her soft lips met his nothing else mattered. She had done it — the rest of the world was on hold. His only thoughts were of her, how thankful he was for her, and how much he needed her.

When she felt the vibration of his soft, muffled snore she realized she must have dozed off unexpectedly. Lying on her back she looked over and smiled. He was completely relaxed with his face buried between a pillow and her shoulder and his arm draped over her stomach. As she mindlessly pulled the covers slightly higher toward her neck it dawned on her how often she made that little adjustment to avoid embarrassment in the event Max might come through the bedroom door unexpectedly. To be fair, he always knocked. But sometimes it seemed he didn't always wait for a response before entering. And despite the awkwardness it sometimes caused, she didn't want to consider the notion that he might never walk through those double doors again.

 _They fell back against the pillows, side-by-side. She was deliriously happy. Her entire face was smiling. He had never felt such contentment and yet utter excitement at the same time. They took a moment to catch their breath. He exhaled heavily before rolling toward her again. Grasping her entire jawline in his hand he couldn't resist directing her lips to collide with his once more. Despite the fact that they were both out of breath their mouths continued their urgent exploration of one another._

" _Oh god," she sighed when their lips finally separated._

" _Jennifer." He exhaled. "Why did it take me so long to find you?"_

" _Why, indeed?" Her breathing was beginning to calm slightly. "I keep pinching myself to make sure this isn't a dream."_

" _It's the best kind of dream," he whispered as he dropped soft kissed around her ear._

" _Oh?"_

" _Mm-hm." His entire face was buried in her neck as he eased his body back over hers. "A dream come true."_

 _Jonathan lifted his head in order to get another look at her eyes. He couldn't get enough of them. They seemed to have a language all their own, because they spoke to him. They were equally intelligent and mysterious. And the color! He was certain the color was different every time he looked at them — a kaleidoscope of light brown, green, and gold._

" _What?" She grinned, acknowledging the slight awkwardness she was feeling from his lengthy stare._

" _You are absolutely beautiful."_

 _She blushed and closed her eyes._

" _No, don't."_

" _Don't what?"_

" _I'm sorry. It's just… your eyes. I can't help myself. I'm a puddle._

 _She laughed. "A puddle?"_

" _A melted mass of awe and wonder. They've mesmerized and melted me."_

" _Jonathan." She didn't know what else to say. His eyes had caught her attention the moment he first glanced at her in the hotel bar and had been holding court with her thoughts ever since. Those dreamy blue eyes. How could they not grab her attention? But she had yet to articulate her feelings the way he just did. "Have you ever considered being a writer?"_

" _That's your job," he said as he swept his fingers through her hair to reveal her ear once again. He placed soft kisses along her earlobe and neck line as he continued, "We don't...need...more than one...writer...in the family."_

 _The words rolled off his tongue in such a nonchalant manner, "in the family." She had barely gotten used to the idea that he had asked her to marry him, let alone taken time to consider what that would mean in terms of logistics. In the family. He was already talking like they were together — together in a forever sort of way. In the family — like, no big deal._

 _It was rare for her to be at a loss for words, but at that very moment she had no idea how to respond. Was there a response? Did he want her to react? She was pondering all the possibilities, which was the reason she didn't hear the knock._

" _Come in," she heard him say, but it really didn't register._

 _Wait. What? She thought to herself. "Wait! Jonathan!" It was too late, the door was already open and there was nothing else to say or do._

 _The two men started talking at once, and in the shock of it all neither really heard the other._

" _Morning, Mr. H," said the gravelly voice, "Thought you'd enjoy the cover story in this morning's paper." He paused. He had been looking at the paper as he walked in and just looked up as he got near the bed. He didn't know why he hadn't considered the situation he might be walking into. He quickly averted his eyes, but the elephant stood smack in the middle of the room and couldn't be ignored. With his eyes turned he nervously attempted to rectify the situation, futile as it was. Each word expressed more unease than the previous. "Good morning Miss Edwards. I apologize. Mr. H said to come in. I didn't realize... I'll come back."_

" _Max! Jennifer...ah…oh boy..." Talking at the same time as Max, Jonathan was as surprised by the situation as the other two. He wasn't really paying attention when he uttered those two little words. He was scrambling for words and for covers. "I'm so sorry. I wasn't thinking. I guess I said come in, but I...ah…"_

 _Max had already turned around. He was about ten shades of pink and was heading out the door, "I'll come back later. Better yet, I'll just wait for you…" He waved his hand and walked out. "Never mind. I'll just go. Somewhere. Anywhere besides here. I sincerely apologize, Miss Edwards." He swung the door shut behind him._

 _They could still hear him through the closed door, "Come in? Come in? Really, Mr. H. Thanks a lot."_

" _That was awkward," Jonathan said attempting to lighten the situation, but he knew it was no use. He really messed up._

 _Jennifer was stark still. Her arm was covering her eyes. She didn't know what to do. It was like a bad dream. Maybe if she kept her eyes closed until there was no more sound, just maybe she would wake up and it would all have been a dream. Maybe. Please?_

" _Oh Jennifer." His tone was gentle and sincere. "Baby, I am so sorry. I don't know why I even told him to come in." He carefully slid off her, but kept his arm around her waist. He wanted to wrap both arms around her, pull her tight, and just hold her close. He settled for leaning his forehead against her shoulder. "I'm so, so sorry."_

 _Her eyes remained closed but she allowed her arm to fall on top of his. She concentrated on her breathing. 'In...out… In…out…' she thought as she took each breath. It was better than trying to talk — or think._

" _What can I do?"_

" _I think you've done plenty," she said._

" _I know."_

" _I'm not mad," she said as she patted the back of his hand._

" _You're not?" He lifted his head in order to find her eyes again._

" _I'm not sure why, but no, I'm not." She turned toward him and finally opened her eyes._

 _He could tell she was serious by reading her eyes. They were definitely not angry. They were soft. Loving. Lovely._

 _He placed his hand gently against her cheek and lightly brushed his thumb over her cheekbone. "I truly am sorry. I don't know how I will make this up to you, but I promise you I will."_

" _I know."_

" _You do?"_

" _Call me crazy, but I do." A soft smile made its way across her lips. "Anyway, I'm fairly positive he couldn't see anything questionable on me — other than you, that is."_

 _He started to laugh, but caught himself. Then she started to laugh and he knew it was okay. He wrapped his arms around her and hugged her close as they both burst into hearty laughter._

Jennifer couldn't help laughing quietly to herself. The memory of that first morning together and Max walking in on them was forever burned in their minds, and it really was funny.

Jonathan sighed and pulled her a little closer toward him. "What's so funny?" he mumbled into the pillow.

 **H2H | H2H**

"We've brought the mail up," she said as she closed the door behind her and bent down to remove Freeway's leash.

He met her with a kiss. "I just got off the phone with Lt. Gray. He said they found the van. They're pretty sure it was abandoned and that the people who had it swapped vehicles. They are processing all of the items found in the van now."

"Where was it?"

"Somewhere south of Bakersfield, I guess, near where The Golden State comes into The Five."

"That's a ways North."

"Yeah. Makes it difficult for LAPD to have jurisdictional lead. But, Hershel's got it under control. Anything interesting in the mail?"

"Oh," she said as she handed him the mail. "Here. I haven't really looked through it. Freeway was very busy on our way back."

Jonathan smiled as he glanced down at Freeway. As he began to sort through the pile he noticed a fairly plain, brown envelope with no postage. "Hey! We may have something here."

"What?"

"I don't know. This envelope has my name on it, but no address or postage."

 **More to come! Leave a comment or two.**


	6. Chapter 6

6

Hospital beds were lined up end to end along the wall of the long corridor as a man peered through a small opening of the housekeeping supplies closet. The man looked left then right then casually stepped out of the closet into the hallway. He was dressed in a dark gray jumpsuit bearing the name Mount Sinai Hospital on the left chest. He gave a scrutinizing glance to the I.D. badge that was pinned just below the hospital name before he pulled the housekeeping cart from the closet and made his way toward the elevator. The corridor was brightly lit and clean, and only the open ceiling that exposed a vast network of pipes and wires gave away the fact that it was the basement of the hospital.

Once inside the elevator he pressed the #6 button and waited for the doors to close. He leaned against the wall and put his hands into his pockets as the memory of an earlier conversation played in his head.

 _"You hear me, Peterson? If Withers wakes up you know your security clearance won't even get you into the wash room, never mind the CFO's office."_

The man, Peterson, withdrew his hands from his pockets pulling a white handkerchief out from the right. He carefully unfolded it to reveal a clean, shiny scalpel, a syringe, and a capped needle. The elevator pinged the familiar tone letting its passenger know it had reached its destination and the doors began to opened. He quickly, yet carefully wrapped the handkerchief back around the blade, returned it to his pocket, and slowly pushed the cart out of the elevator.

He made his way toward the Intensive Care Unit. As he approached the wide double-doors he noticed a sign that read _'For entry, press the red button and stand clear of the doors.'_ He looked through the windows of the doors before he stepped back and pressed the button.

"Yes?" A woman's voice responded through the intercom speaker just above the button.

"Housekeeping," he replied.

There was a distinct click and then the doors slowly swung open. He pushed his cart through the doorway and was greeted by a woman at the nurse's station. Nurse Margaret Truesdale was a formidable woman who took her job seriously. With one glance he knew that she he needed to be very deliberate with his actions or she would see right through him.

"You're later than usual. Where's Joel?" asked the nurse. Her tone was cordial and unassuming.

"They got me pulling double-duty tonight. Told me the guy who worked this shift called in sick." He sounded convincing, but never looked directly at the nurse.

"Well, it's pretty quiet up here tonight."

She was right, it was quiet. Despite the fact that all eight rooms were occupied and life-saving machines were pumping away making their usual hisses, chirps, and beeps, the entire unit was blanketed with a hushed tone, as if being muted from the inside out. Lights were dimmed throughout the unit, completing the ambiance. Two nurses brushed quickly by his cart barely making a sound and efficiently went to work changing the I.V. bags of the patient in room 637. The interior of the rooms were highly visible from the nurse's station, as sliding glass doors acted as walls between the rooms and the nurse's station. Room 638 was the only room that was completely dark and had a curtain partially blocking the view to the patient. There appeared to be a family member sitting beside the patient's bed in room 639. He counted five nurses in total throughout the unit in his initial scan. As he made his way around the nurse's station he continued to observe the surroundings. 640...641… And there it was, room 642. _'Perfect,'_ he thought to himself, noting that there were no nurses or other guests in there at the moment.

Peterson busied himself with collecting fresh linens from his cart. As he walked toward the door of room 642 the nurse from the desk stopped him.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Up here we don't put the fresh linens in the patient rooms. We keep them in the closet just there." She pointed to a set of double-doors between rooms 639 and 640. "These rooms are so crowded with equipment and medical supplies—easier on all of us having them out here. Towels and Huck rags can be left right here," she pointed to the nurse's desk. The nurses will put them in each room as they are needed."

"Oh," said Peterson as he shifted the linens in his arms in order to open the closet door.

Just then a buzzer at the nurse's station rang. Nurse Margaret returned to her desk and after a moment the double-doors opened to allow a woman through. She looked tired and worn. A different nurse met her and walked with her to room 642.

 _'Damn!'_ he thought. "Some people are exempt from visiting hours, I take it?" he suggested under his breath.

"ICU has a different policy on visitors than most parts of the hospital." The nurse's response startled him, because he didn't know she had returned to his cart. "Only one visitor at a time—family members only. But, they can come pretty much anytime. They can only be in the patient's rooms for fifteen minutes or so, though. Then, it's back to the waiting room for another hour or so. Keeps their spirits up to be able to come in more often. Many at this stage have a real difficult time being anywhere but the hospital—so unpredictable, you know."

"I see," he said. "I guess I'm not used to seeing visitors in rooms on the night shift."

Nurse Margaret nodded, "I also work on the Med-Surge floor, so I understand getting used to different routines and stocking procedures."

Peterson only grunted indistinguishably and continued to sort through the linens.

"We could also use some fresh gowns. Those go in the closet as well."

He nodded and poked around the different shelves of his cart to find some hospital gowns. He was quickly realizing that his original plan was not going to work. A woman was now in Mr. Withers' room—most likely his wife. Could he poke around for another fifteen minutes or so and find an excuse to have to enter the room? Not likely. He would have to find another way to ensure Marcus Withers didn't awake from his coma. He placed a stack of gowns on the shelf and closed the closet doors.

He turned his cart around and started to walk toward the exit, but glanced one last time at room 642.

"Wait," said Nurse Margaret abruptly. "What do you think you're doing?"

Peterson's heart jumped. He didn't quite know how to respond. What was she insinuating? Did she figure out he wasn't an actual hospital employee? He stared at the doors for a second, then thought he'd be better off at least acknowledging her. He turned around without saying anything and looked around the unit with a puzzled look, avoiding eye-contact.

"The soiled linens," she shared pleasantly. "We don't keep those in the closet. They are in those bags along the side wall." She pointed toward a row of what looked like garbage liner stands with lids. Two of the stands held blue plastic bags with lids that read _'Soiled Linen.'_

"Ah, thank you," he responded and quickly made his way over to get the bags.

Moments later Peterson was back down the basement. He put the cart, complete with dirty laundry, back in the housekeeping closet. As he was leaving the room he heard a groan from the back corner. He looked toward the noise—a man in an undershirt and plaid boxer shorts lay tied up with a gag covering his mouth. He knocked the man on the back of his head for good measure and left the closet.

 **H2H | H2H**

Room 642 was so very quiet. Mary Sue Withers was seated beside her husband's bedside holding his hand. She promised her daughter she would go home with her after this visit and attempt to get some rest. Although she knew she probably wouldn't sleep, she knew it was in her best interest to have some time away from the hospital and rest in a comfortable environment.

She looked up and memorized the readout on the monitor beside the bed: EKG 82, Sp02 99, NIBP 132/76. She took out a small notepad and a pen from her purse and wrote down the date, time, and all the vitals. _'Heart rate - 82, Oxygen saturation - 99, Blood pressure - 132/76.'_ She had written his numbers down several times over the course of the past twenty-four hours. Doctors still had not determined why he was in a coma, and some of his test results wouldn't be conclusive for at least another twelve to forty-eight hours, but she did know his current vital signs. They appeared good, and that was all she had to go on.

The nurse stepped into the doorway, which was a sign to Mary Sue that her visiting time was ending. She packed her notepad and pen back in her purse and stood up. She squeezed Marcus' hand as she leaned in and kissed him tenderly on his temple.

"I love you, dear," she whispered in his ear. "Thomas, Sandy, Kurt—we all love you. I know you have lots of fight left in you. Come back to us." She leaned in more longingly, "Come back to me." Her voice choked on her last words. She wiped at a tear as she rose from Marcus's bedside and followed the nurse out of the room.

 **H2H | H2H**

Peterson had changed out of the hospital jumpsuit into a pair of slacks and patterned cardigan and was standing at a pay phone in the lobby of Hart Industries New York office. He dialed the number and waited.

"Anybody calling me this late better have good news," Richard barked after four rings.

Peterson paused as he considered his first words. "Ah, Boss, I need you to understand—"

"This doesn't sound like good news," Richard interrupted. "I thought my instructions were clear. Were they not clear enough for _you_ to understand?"

"Listen, boss," he continued, nervous vibrations evident in his voice. "That ICU was crawling with nurses and Withers' wife came in. There was nothing I could do—I had to get outta there."

"Like I said, you're the one'll be made if he wakes up, not me."

"I know. I know. But, listen."

"You listen! You fix this! You made the mess. If I have to clean up your mess, I'll clean you up, too! Got it?"

"I will. It's just gonna take more time." He paused, knowing his next words would cause further admonishment from the other end of the telephone. _'At least he's all the way over on the west coast,'_ he attempted to reassure himself. "There's more."

"More? More what?"

"More bad news, I suppose." He squeezed his eyes shut as if he might receive a blow to the head.

"Moo—oore b-b-bad ne-ne-news?" mocked Richard.

"I had no idea this would happen. I mean, I knew it _could_ happen. But, I didn't expect that it _would_ happen. Or I didn't expect that it would happen so quickly."

"You're talkin' nonsense, now. Spit it out, already."

Hart already changed some of the security clearances. He's authorized this V.P. to come and take over for Withers, and that causes a lot of things to change. They changed them at the home office and I won't have access to any of it until this V.P., this Phillips guy brings me the confidential documents. This happens when big shots are replaced. Nothing I can do."

"So, what you're really tellin' me is that you can't access the funds tonight. Is that what you're tellin' me?"

"Ah," Peterson stammered. "Basically. I mean, yeah. I am going to have to wait until the new codes arrive before I can start to work on transferring the money." He paused, and hearing no yelling from the other end of the phone line he continued more confidently, "But, the good news is that I know how I'm going to transfer the funds so that they won't be discovered for a while."

"Well, that's nifty," Richard responded sarcastically. "You know how you're gonna transfer the funds. How very swell." He drew a deep breath and shouted, "If you ever get the damn codes before I strangle youse to death, you mean!"

"Now, boss—"

"Don't _'now boss'_ me. D'ya hear? Just get it done!"

"I will. I promise. It's just that it'll be Monday before I can get my hands on the codes. I mean, it's the weekend. Tomorrow's Sunday — well, technically it's already Sunday here, but it's not there. But, the banks aren't open on Sunday. Well, the banks have been closed since noon today, anyway. So even if I did make the transfers the money wouldn't move until Monday, so it would make better sense —"

Richard took a slow, deep breath and silently counted to ten while he pretended to listen to Peterson ramble on. Then, he calmly replied, "Just get it done. I don't wanna know how — just get it done."

 **H2H | H2H**

The yellow Mercedes-Benz convertible rolled to a stop along the curb. Jonathan set the parking break, but didn't kill the engine. Things had changed since the last time they were here. The once perfectly manicured landscape was overgrown and unkept. Weeds were growing up in the sidewalk cracks and broken glass, weathered paper, and fast food wrappers littered the street gutter and edges of the stone wall that surrounded the property.

Jennifer looked around. "Are you sure we shouldn't have called first?"

"I'm sure," Jonathan replied as he turned off the car engine. He looked determined but calm.

"This doesn't even look like the same place," she said as she gathered her purse and made to open the door.

As she reached for the door handle with one hand Jonathan reached over and gently grasped her other hand. "Wait."

"What is it?" she asked. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Yes, but," he hesitated.

"Darling, if this is too much."

"No. It's not that."

"Then, what?"

"I don't know." he said as he leaned his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes. "None of this makes any sense."

"Listen, maybe it would be better if we just let the police handle things from here."

Jonathan shook his head, "I promised Hershel I wouldn't do anything stupid—and I won't. This isn't foolish, and it's not interfering. It's just something I need to do myself."

"I know." A soft smile concealed her concern for the moment. "We'll go in when you're ready. We can sit here as long as you like."

"It's the craziest thing," he said as he fumbled with his keys. "I haven't felt like this in so long. It's like I had completely forgotten—" His thoughts drifted off for a second.

"Forgotten what?"

He shook off the thought and his resolve returned, "Nothing." He looked into her eyes and gave a half-hearted smile. "That's not true. It _is_ something, but I need some answers before I can even give it words. I'm okay, Darling. I promise."

"You sure?" She asked in a concerned tone.

He gave her a reassuring nod. "You ready?"

"If you are."

The Harts exited the car and walked hand-in-hand up the sidewalk to the gate. Jonathan rang the bell and they waited.

With a graceful flow a nun adorned in black robes and full habit walked slowly toward the gate. "Can I help you?"

"Ah, Sister Mary," smiled Jonathan.

"Mr. and Mrs. Hart, what brings you here?" asked the nun.

Jennifer kept a close eye on her husband. She was definitely worried about him and knew that he was aware of her concern. While there was plenty he was wrestling with internally, she knew she was the only one who could tell. She silently marveled at the confident ease and charm at which he interacted with people regardless of the situation or his own emotional state. His demeanor with Sister Mary was a perfect example of that.

"I hope we aren't disturbing you, this being Sunday and all."

"Not at all," said Sister Mary. "Come in. Come in." She opened the gate and ushered the Harts onto the property. "The last mass concluded forty minutes ago. We each take our sabbath on different days of the week, so that we may tend to our chores and those who come to our gate." She smiled reassuringly to both of the Harts.

"Is Janet... I mean the Mother Superior, is she in?"

Sister Mary smiled. "Of course." She knew of the long friendship between Jonathan and the Mother Superior and didn't show any sign that his calling her by her given name was out of the ordinary. "I'll open the gate and you can park your car up by the offices."

The Mother Superior, Janet Braden, was pristinely dressed in white robes and habit and stood from behind her desk as the Harts entered her office. "Jonathan. Jennifer." She made her way around to the front of her desk and greeted the two with a warm smile and gentle hand shake. Her hand lingered momentarily in Jonathan's hand as he leaned in and kissed her cheek. "How nice to see you. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"It's nice to see you again, Mother," said Jennifer with a genuine smile.

Jonathan was slow to bring up the real reason they were there. "I couldn't help but notice a difference as we drove up." He gestured toward the window with his hand and his head.

Janet slumped back against her desk. "Yes. It's very unfortunate."

"What's going on?" he asked.

She shook her head in disappointment. "We have a turf war going on between rival gangs in our streets. It's getting more and more violent by the week."

"Oh my," said Jennifer.

"It's especially bad at night. In the beginning, our groundskeeper and the sisters were able to manage the cleanup after a bad night, but things have gotten so bad as of late that I won't allow them outside of the gate even during the day. There have been two drive-by shootings just around the corner during the daytime in the last month." Janet explained.

"Scary," sighed Jennifer.

"I've seen some of that in the news, but actually hadn't put the locations together in relation to the convent. I'm sorry," shared Jonathan. "What is local law enforcement doing to help?"

"Unfortunately, it appears that the gangs have the upper hand at the moment. Chief Nolan is putting together a task force, but I'm sure you didn't come over here to discuss our local gang activity." Janet motioned toward a comfortable seating area in her office. "Why don't we sit and you can tell me what's on your mind." She gave Jonathan a knowing wink.

Jonathan chuckled, "You know me too well."

Jonathan and Jennifer shared the couch and Janet took her comfortable armchair that sat at one end of the coffee table that stretched in front of the couch. Then, Jonathan shared about Max's disappearance. He told her everything that happened the night he went missing and all they knew from the police investigation.

Janet conveyed her genuine concern for his wellbeing. She had known Max nearly as long as Jonathan but certainly not as well as Jonathan. While she didn't know him in the close, personal way Jonathan did, she knew him to be the man who had, for all intents and purposes, saved Jonathan. He never formally adopted him, and he certainly wasn't what anyone would consider a _model_ father figure, but Max _was_ the closest thing to a father that Jonathan ever had. Janet was more grateful to Max for all that he had done for Jonathan than either man ever knew or she was willing to share. In fact, she very much considered Max to be one of only a handful of people who helped to restore her faith in humanity which ultimately lead to her calling as a nun.

"This is such disturbing news," said Janet. "We shall pray continually for his safe return. Max holds a special place in my heart, and I will help you in any way that I can."

"Thank you," said Jonathan. "That means a lot."

"How can I help?" asked Janet.

"Your prayers are a great help," said Jonathan. Then he looked over at Jennifer and nodded.

Jennifer reached into her oversized handbag and pulled out a large brown envelope. She took out the contents and laid them on top of the envelope before passing the entire pile over to Janet. She tried to catch Jonathan's eyes as she reached across his lap, but he was lost in thought.

"What's this?" Janet asked.

Jonathan was still disengaged and sort of staring at the pile, so Jennifer responded, "We found this in our mailbox yesterday. It came just like that, no postage or address—just Jonathan's name."

"Why bring it to me?" asked Janet, appearing a bit confused.

Jennifer looked over at Jonathan, "Darling?"

Jonathan sat a little straighter and mentally rejoined the conversation. But, before he could respond, Janet began to comment as she thumbed through the items. The top item really caught her attention.

"This is recent—that's Friday's paper he's holding. I recognize the headline," she began. "Did this come from the people who have Max?"

"That's what we figure," Jonathan replied.

"What is this all about?" Janet asked.

Jennifer just shook her head with a worried look.

Jonathan responded, "I wish we knew."

"So, forgive me as I ask again. Why have you brought all this to me? How can I help with any of this? Do you need a place to hide out again, because I'm not sure that went so well the last time." Janet confessed.

"Oh, no. Nothing like that," Jennifer chuckled, slightly embarrassed and slightly amused, despite the sadness of the situation.

"No. We aren't looking to bring trouble to the convent again," Jonathan assured her. "We certainly don't want to worry you like that again."

Jonathan leaned forward in order to be within reach of the items Janet was holding.

"That is definitely Max, and it has to be from whoever has kidnapped him," he explained. "That's the cover of Friday's _L.A. Times_ he's holding. He's standing in front of a gray van, which is the very van we saw tear out of the airport that night."

"Look at him," Jennifer commented. "We need to find him soon. He looks so...helpless...hurt—" She shook her head, her eyes conveying the sadness she was feeling.

Everyone sighed and silence lingered for a moment.

Jonathan tapped the photo lightly a couple of times. "When I first looked through all of this I didn't really pay attention to anything except for Max. But, after we allowed ourselves a moment to believe that he was at least alive and the people who have him were perhaps wanting to negotiate somehow, I spent a little more time pouring over the remaining contents. The person who has him is definitely toying with me."

"What makes you say that?" Janet asked.

"Most of these things appear to be random. Disconnected. Of little value or significance — a baseball card, a bubble gum wrapper, a racing form —" he began. "But, then I looked more closely. It may seem that I am grasping a bit, but these are definitely not random, and they most definitely all connected to me in some way."

"How?"

"That's exactly what I asked him last night when he woke me up in the middle of the night going on and on about them being clues," said Jennifer.

Jonathan gestured toward the coffee table and said, "Here. Lay those things down and spread them out."

Janet obliged. After she put them down and fanned them out a little, Jonathan began picking them up one at a time and arranging them so everything could be seen independently.

Jennifer leaned in to have a closer look, patting Jonathan's leg as she settled. Without really thinking about it Jonathan reached for Jennifer's hand and held it confidently on his knee. She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze in a similar reflexive act. Then, just as quickly, they released their grasp. The loving gesture between them took only seconds, but still didn't go unnoticed by Janet who smiled to herself as they continued to discuss the contents of the envelope.

 **Thank you for continuing to follow my story! We all have busy seasons in our lives, and apparently I continue to add to my own. In my old age (let me just say I have a child graduating from college this year) I have decided to further my education. Between a full-time career, being a mom to busy teenagers, and now school work I can't believe I even had time to pull this chapter out. But, I finally got the juices flowing again!**

 **Please share your thoughts. Your comments keep me motivated!**


	7. Chapter 7

**It's been a long time since I've posted an update. But, I finished my class and finally have a little spare time on my hands. I am hoping to produce more steady chapters in the coming months. A "Hart-felt" thank you to those who choose to continue with this journey — or re-read to remember where this journey has taken us thus far! You deserve a gold star!**

7

Jonathan was fidgety and had been rubbing his forehead and temple off and on throughout their conversation. Jennifer had already asked him if he had a headache or wanted some aspirin and he shrugged her off.

"Look at this one," Jonathan said as he pointed to an old, yellowed racing form on the coffee table.

The ladies leaned in a little closer.

"See the two horses that are circled?" he asked.

"Cool Night Breeze," Jennifer read slowly aloud. "In the fifth race?" she added because Jonathan seemed to be deliberately pointing it out.

"Right. That one and this other one in the eighth race, Wild Heart," he said.

"What about them?" Jennifer asked.

"Do you own those horses?" Janet asked.

"No," said Jonathan. "Look at the date of the form." He had closed his eyes and was rubbing his forehead again.

Janet picked up the paper and searched for the date. "Ah-ha. May twentieth, nineteen fifty-five. You definitely wouldn't have owned horses back then," she remarked.

"I didn't own anything back then that di—" There was a catch in Jonathan's voice just as his eyes met Jennifer's. He shook it off and continued, but the emotion in his voice continued to betray him, "…that didn't fit in the cigar box that I kept tucked between my mattress and the wall at the head of my bed."

The eye contact was all it took. She had been willing herself to keep her emotions in check, but the audible flutter as she drew in breath gave her away as well. He didn't often speak about what it felt like for him growing up in the orphanage. Mostly, he talked about the nuns, the other kids, what school was like, that sort of thing. In those times, his demeanor was fairly matter-of-fact — an ' _it was what it was'_ and ' _that was that'_ sort of attitude. Every once in a while he would peel back a layer of vulnerability and share with her some of the sadness, anxiety, anger, and even shame of what it was really like for him. Her eyes began to sting, and she blinked in an attempt to regain composure.

"Cool Night Breeze and Wild Heart," Jennifer quickly offered as she gave his shoulder a pat. She knew it was best to keep the conversation rolling.

"This is going to sound crazy," said Jonathan, "but these particular horses circled on this particular form on this particular day — this was _my_ form. I circled those horses."

"Your form?" Janet asked with a sense of confusion.

"Wait a minute, Jonathan," said Jennifer, "How could this be your form? I know you've circled a lot of racing forms over the years — you and Max both, but—"

"Like I said," Jonathan interrupted her, "Crazy. But I know it's mine. It's that damned curse of mine."

Jennifer elbowed Jonathan in the side as subtly as she could, gesturing with her head toward Janet before he could question her.

"Oh. Sorry, Janet. That _darn_ curse."

"Jonathan, please be yourself around me. Lightning won't strike the convent just because you used a four-letter word," Janet chuckled. "Besides, I know it's been a rough few days. I don't want to make you feel like you can't relax and just speak freely in front of me on top of all that you are dealing with."

"Still. I am sorry."

Janet nodded in acceptance. "But, what do you mean, exactly, when you say you are cursed?"

Jennifer sat back on the couch a little. "Jonathan calls it a curse. But, I would tend to argue that it's a gift or a blessing, even."

"Okay. Okay," Jonathan turned and patted Jennifer's forearm before he continued, "maybe it's both."

"Listen, you know that I tend to pick things up rather quickly and that I read fast and, well, that I—"

"That you're basically the smartest person on the planet?" Janet interrupted.

"Not the smartest," Jonathan responded, "just… well," he stammered, "I can hold my own."

"Hold your own?" Janet interjected. "Jonathan, you were teaching physics to the nuns by fifth grade."

Jennifer and Janet exchanged knowing grins.

"Alright, ladies, that's enough."

They all laughed. Jennifer was grateful for the laughter and banter as it seemed to be easing Jonathan's tension.

Jonathan sighed. "I can't win with you people."

"That's because you know I'm right," Janet smiled.

"Well, now that we've established that I'm brilliant," Jonathan smirked, "I was just trying to explain that much of how I learn and the reason I can recall technical things fairly easily is because I sort of have a photographic memory. That is my curse — or gift."

He gave Jennifer a little nod, giving credit to her observation.

"You have a photographic memory?" Janet asked. "That's fascinating."

"And frustrating," Jonathan responded. "Well, at times it's frustrating."

"I always marveled at how you used to _literally read_ entire textbooks and actually learn from them. Who does that?" Janet queried, not intending a response. "Sill, I wish I had that ability. It certainly would help me to remember where I left my reading glasses."

"It doesn't work like that with me," He said.

"He's right," said Jennifer. "He can definitely forget things now and then," she added while eyeing Jonathan.

"Come on. I forget one dinner party with the Foundation for Professional Women and suddenly my intelligence is on trial."

"You were giving the award for Professional Woman of the Year. How could you not remember?"

"Stop it, now. I got there, didn't I?"

"After I had you paged at the tennis club and sent Max with your tux to pick you up."

"Like I was trying to say…," he dramatically emphasized those words as he specifically addressed Janet, "photographic memory has more to do with things I actually _see_ — words and pictures on a page, layouts of a room, license plate numbers, legal documents, that sort of thing. It doesn't exactly work with how I remember my day."

"Darling, I was only trying to help you prove your point," she grinned.

"Yeah," he rolled his eyes.

Jennifer blew him a kiss.

Janet laughed. "She's really perfect for you. You _do_ know that?"

"I guess," he said as he tried to keep a sober face.

"Hey?" Jennifer reacted.

He wrapped his arm around Jennifer. Pulling her close he kissed her temple ever so sweetly. He then took her hand and laced his fingers with hers.

"She's just plain perfect," he said, holding her hand a little tighter. "To answer you properly, Janet, I _do_ know how fortunate I am to have this beautiful lady by my side. I don't know what I did to deserve her."

Jennifer's heart fluttered. It always did when Jonathan said lovely things about her. At the same time, she didn't like being made the center of attention. "Okay, let's stop this. What were you saying about the racing form?" she changed the subject as she patted their intertwined hands.

"Always the inquisitive journalist, my wife — deflecting attention off of her and back to the topic at hand. Touché, darling."

Jennifer nodded unashamedly. She was nonetheless happy for the return of his playful nature, however long or short it would last.

"Why do you say this is _your_ paper?" asked Janet.

"See, I was fourteen years old that summer. I had a good business going, selling both the _San Francisco_ _Chronicle_ and the _LA Times_ in my little section of sidewalk real estate — regular customers, good tips, decent relationships with the local merchants. I started branching out by doing a few odd jobs for some of the locals. I'd been at the same corner for nearly two years by then. I amassed a tiny savings and finally found a bookie who would honor my business if you know what I mean."

"Someone who wouldn't swindle you if you won a bet?" Jennifer offered.

"Exactly," he responded. "I remember this bet vividly."

"You bet your newspaper earnings on horses?" Janet asked.

"You're really surprised by that?" he returned.

She would have liked to act surprised by the question, but then simply shook her head.

"To quote Max," he conjured up his best gravelly Max impression, "I was _'not exactly a model citizen'_ in those days."

"Why do you remember this bet so well, darling?" Jennifer asked.

"I remember it because it was the first time I won big."

"You did?"

"I really did," he replied, "See, Wild Heart was going off at twenty to one. There was something about that horse's name that I just connected with, you know — Wild. Heart."

The ladies nodded and smiled.

"I just had a feeling — a gut reaction. That horse was going to land me some solid cash. I just knew it."

"But at twenty to one? That was risky. How much did you bet?" Jennifer asked.

"Precisely $163.30."

"Jonathan, you bet that much on a twenty to one horse when you were just a kid?" Jennifer scolded.

"You sound like Max."

"That must have been a year's savings."

"Well, I made a bit more than that the first year I sold papers. But I only sold the local paper that first year. Like I said, I had figured a few things out by this point, and I had calculated just the right number of each paper to sell each day so that I rarely had any left-overs. And the Sunday papers net quite a bit more than the dailies. I knew how to turn a buck even back then," he said as he smiled at his wife.

"Still, that was a lot of money back then."

"Even now," suggested Janet.

"My insurance plan was in the earlier race with the other horse, Cool Night Breeze. I loved the name. Can't you imagine the fresh scent of a cool breeze off the ocean, the sun just touching the water as it dips at sunset? Plus, that horse was a sure thing," he tipped the back of his hand up to his mouth as if to share a secret, "according to my source."

"Let's see," Jennifer peered at the racing form, "Cool Night Breeze was a three to one shot. How much did you bet in that race? It must have been plenty if you thought you could recapture a hundred and sixty-some dollars from it."

"Fifty-four smackers."

"Wait a minute," Janet interrupted while calculating in her head, "you bet $217 that day?"

"And thirty cents," Jonathan grinned.

"Jonathan!" Jennifer scoffed.

"It was gravy all the way, I tell ya," he responded, "I was feeling mighty invincible that day. My hunches paid off — both horses won! I walked away that day $3,428 richer than I started. I couldn't believe my luck!"

"You remember the exact amount you won?" Janet asked.

Jonathan feigned a look of shock. "You don't think I'd remember the first time I ever held over a thousand dollars exactly how much it was?"

Janet only nodded with a soft smile.

"Like I was saying, I was feeling mighty lucky and ready to celebrate. Until…" Jonathan's voice trailed off.

"Until what?" both girls inquired in unison.

"Until I was jumped coming home after settling up with my bookie."

"What?"

"Oh, darling! Were you hurt?"

"My pride and my pockets were the only things that sustained lasting injuries. I was scraped up some, but nothing I hadn't dealt with before. But then Max did his best to knock me down a peg or two after he found out. Boy, was he sore with me."

"I shouldn't wonder," Jennifer commented.

"I haven't seen this racing form in all these years."

"Did your attackers take it from you when they took the cash?" Janet asked.

"No. I had it after that. I kept it on purpose. I used to look at it to remind me."

"Remind you?" Jennifer asked. "Why?"

"It was one of the absolute greatest and worst days of my life up to that point. I had all that cash in my hands, and I was so proud. I was going to buy a car and put the rest aside to get my first apartment, but —"

"When you were fourteen?"

"Darling, you've got to know that I felt invincible at that point. It was the first time I felt like I could do anything I wanted, and nobody was going to tell me what to do."

"How could you think that you could buy a car and get an apartment at fourteen?"

"Sweetheart, who was going to stop me? The nuns? I was already old enough to get an operator's license then. At fourteen I could have worked in any factory or skilled labor field that was willing to hire me. Being a resident of an orphanage was the only thing requiring me to go to school. Otherwise, I could drop out. I had no parents. I thought I was ready to take on the world — say goodbye to Mission Street for good. If I had the money to buy a car I could have bought one and just taken off."

"But that didn't happen," Jennifer said, softly.

"Nope."

Jonathan just sat there staring at the racing form.

"I'm sorry, darling."

"Don't be sorry," he said as he laid the form down on the coffee table. "It was the best thing that could have happened."

"Wow," said Janet, "that's really remarkable to admit that."

"Not remarkable. It _was_ the best thing that could have happened. But I certainly didn't feel that way at the time," he admitted while continuing to stare at the table.

"I seem to remember you had a grudge on the world in those days," Janet shared.

"Yeah," Jonathan murmured. He let out a heavy sigh and began adjusting some of the other items from the envelope. His thoughts drifted.

Janet broke the swelling silence by asking, "Why do you suppose this racing form showed up now?"

"I'll tell you one thing, I have no idea who's behind this, but I know for sure that Max's disappearance has something to do with me and it's very personal," said Jonathan.

"Darling?" The concern was evident in her query.

"Janet, do you remember when that little girl contracted polio at Mission Street? We were maybe sophomores at the time."

"Oh," she paused, "I do. Yes. Dorothy something. We called her Dot when she was little. I wonder whatever happened to her."

"Remember how they had people come in and strip all our bedding and sent all our clothes out to be sanitized?"

"My gosh, I completely forgot about that. You know, I don't have a great memory from back then — a lot of my memories are all lumped together and I don't know what year they happened," said Janet.

"I can understand that," he said.

"Darling, what are you getting at?" asked Jennifer.

"Do you remember that I said that I kept a cigar box tucked between my mattress and the wall?"

"Yes," the ladies said in unison."

"That was the last I ever saw of that cigar box — when they came through and took all the bedding. I had a small pile of items left on my mattress from that box — my harmonica, a tin of shoe polish, a small pile of marbles, and my pocket knife. They told us they had to get rid of anything that couldn't be sanitized. They just took everything one day when we were at school and threw it all away. Well, at least that's what they told us. But now —"

"You're really sure this paper was yours?" asked Jennifer.

"Positive," he replied. "Along with all of this other stuff. All mine."

"Other stuff?"

"All of these things from the envelope."

"You're sure?"

"I am absolutely positive. All of these things were in my cigar box."

"No." Jennifer's response was one of surprise more than anything.

"The racing form, the bubble gum wrappers, this baseball card — this '52 Pee Wee Reece has to be worth a pretty penny. I'm surprised whoever had all of this didn't pawn it by now." He raised his eyebrows as he picked up the next item and looked at his wife. "This was the first tie I ever bought myself."

"Yellow. Your favorite color," Jennifer smiled.

He winked back.

"Was this what you kept your marbles in?" Janet asked as she pointed to a small leather pouch.

"Yep. Traded my best shooter and three of my most valuable cat's eyes for that."

They all silently considered that for a moment.

"What's this?" Jennifer asked as she picked up a Polaroid of what looked like a comic book.

"This…" he said as he leaned over and tapped the photo, "this is a first edition Captain America comic book. The very first issue."

"This couldn't have been in your cigar box," she said. "There were no color photos back then. Not only that, but it can't be very old. All of my old color Polaroids are pretty orange. This doesn't show any signs of aging."

"You're right," he said, "The picture wasn't in my box. The actual comic book was, though."

"It was?" Jennifer asked.

"It was."

"I don't get it," said Jennifer.

"Don't get what?" he asked.

"Why a picture and not the actual comic book?"

"Unlike the baseball card, I'm guessing they do understand the value of this comic book."

"Comic books are worth a lot of money?" Janet asked.

"Oh sure," said Jonathan. "Depending on the condition and the volume, some can be worth a lot of money. _Captain America Number One_ in fairly good shape is probably worth thousands by now. Even a well-read copy with no rips would be worth a thousand or more."

"Really?" Janet expressed in amazement.

"Darling," said Jennifer, "why on earth would someone keep this stuff for all these years?"

"I don't know," he said.

"And why would they send it all to you now?" she asked.

"Well, I don't know. But it's obvious that it has something to do with Max," he said.

"Do you have any idea who might have had it all this time?"

"I have no idea. Not one," he said. "I mean, whoever had it obviously knew it was my stuff. It had to be someone who had access to the school and to the boys' dormitory. Makes you wonder what other stuff they have. Strange."

"Creepy," Jennifer winced. "Whoever this is must have a long-standing animosity toward you or something."

"Something." he agreed. " I just don't know who."

"Jonathan, how many of us do you keep in touch with?" asked Janet. "Besides you, the only person I keep in touch with is Joan Nolan. And that's because she and I shared an apartment for a few years when we finally moved out of Mission Street."

"Really, no one," said Jonathan. "I have to admit that once I got out of there I was so ready to leave that part of my life behind. And I'm embarrassed to say that if you and I hadn't crossed paths when I opened up the Foundation I'm not sure that we would even be in touch today," he told Janet.

"Don't even give that a second thought," she assured him. "I haven't been any better."

"Still —" he said as his thoughts drifted.

Janet picked up the photo of the comic book and said, "I remember this."

Jonathan rested his chin in his hand as he leaned his elbow on his knee. "I wondered if you would."

"If I remember correctly, you had a rather protective attachment to that comic book," said Janet.

Jonathan rubbed his upper lip thoughtfully. He attempted to respond, but he couldn't.

"Darling?" Jennifer knew immediately that his unease had returned, which caused her worry to reignite.

"I'm sorry," said Janet, "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"You didn't," said Jonathan. "I'm actually glad you said that."

"Oh?" Janet said.

"That's actually why I wanted to see you today."

"It is?" Janet replied

Jennifer waited for Jonathan to look her way. She knew he would. Their eyes met and he relaxed ever so slightly, just enough for her to recognize. He gave her a half-hearted smile before he turned back to the picture.

"It was supposed to have belonged to my father," he said.

"Really?" Jennifer gasped.

"My gosh, that's right," said Janet. "I remember now. You used to be very protective of it because it was a connection to your dad. You never let anyone else touch it, and you always worried someone might steal it."

He looked back at his wife, grateful for her loving eyes.

"Yep," he said.

"Oh, Jonathan," said Jennifer as she reached for his hand. "It really belonged to your father?"

"That's what I was told when it was given to me," he said.

"What can I do or how can I help you with this, then," asked Janet.

Jonathan couldn't sit any longer. He stood after gently squeezing his wife's hand and letting it go. "I wasn't really sure about coming here, but I knew that you were the only person I knew who might be able to tell me whether my memories were accurate." He walked over to the window and looked out over the garden. "I mean, I am really fuzzy when it comes to things that happened before high school. Sometimes I'm not sure if my memories are real or if they are something I dreamed up. I haven't seen or thought about this comic book for decades, and basically, I wondered if I dreamed that it belonged to my father."

Jennifer contemplated whether to get up and go to her husband. Janet saw the worry in Jennifer's eyes and lovingly rubbed Jennifer's forearm.

"You didn't dream it," Janet reassured him. "I can't say whether or not it was true back then, but I can assure you, at least, that you told me it belonged to your father."

"Well, I'm glad I'm not making things up in my head," said Jonathan.

He turned away from the window and walked over toward the ladies who both stood up.

"What else can I do to help you and Jennifer?" Janet asked.

"I honestly don't know," he replied. "I guess it was kind of silly coming all the way out here on a Sunday and bothering you with all of this when I could have just called you."

"It's no trouble at all," said Janet. "In fact, I'm really glad that you came. I don't think it's silly, and it certainly is no inconvenience. It is so nice to see you both. I wish that it didn't take such frightening circumstances to bring us together all the time."

"I agree," said Jennifer.

"I promise that we will get together one day soon with no organized crime or kidnapping cases on the agenda," said Jonathan.

"That sounds marvelous," said Janet. "Maybe one day we can talk more about some other memories of our childhood — they weren't all bad,"

Jonathan smiled. "No, they weren't. That sounds nice," he said.

"We will definitely be praying for Max's safe return," Janet added.

"Thank you," said Jonathan. "That means a lot."

He bent down and collected the items from the coffee table and placed them back inside the envelope.

"You know," said Janet, "I am very thankful for the Jonathan Hart Mission Street Foundation."

"Well, thank you," said Jonathan. "It means a lot to me."

"I know it does," said Janet. "Of course it is important to the orphanage and it has provided so much for them, but I mean I am thankful that it brought us back together. I am grateful to know the amazing and generous man you've become."

She turned to Jennifer, "And you. I am proud to know both of you. The love you have for one another and the love you share with all of God's creatures. Jennifer, I have read about what you're doing to protect and care for wildlife. Orphans. Wildlife orphans. You are both remarkable."

"Why, thank you, Mother," said Jennifer. "Everyone deserves a fair chance in this world. I'm only doing what I feel I should do to protect those who don't have a voice or means to help themselves."

"Thank you, Janet," said Jonathan. "I have to agree, she is remarkable."

As their time together wound down they all lit candles and shared a prayer for Max before saying their goodbyes. They shared hugs before Jonathan and Jennifer made their way out of Janet's office and back to their car.

 **To be continued...**

 **Remember to write a review and follow! Your comments are what keep the inspiration flowing. :)**


	8. Chapter 8

8

"Darling, are you sure you wouldn't like me to drive?"

Her words were audible above the muffled whurr of the nearby lawnmower but they rang on deaf ears.

Jonathan's eyes appeared fixed on a fleck of dust between himself and the windshield as he mindlessly rolled the ignition key back and forth in his fingers. Jumbled scenes from his past tossed through his mind like clothes in a dryer. They were only a smattering of the scenes that had played in his head since the night before: the crumbling front steps of the Mission Street Orphanage, seeing Max in the crowd at his high school graduation, signing his name on the lease agreement of his very first office space, the view from the window of his college dorm room from freshman year at Stanford, the water-stained ceiling above his bed in the boys dorm room at the orphanage, erecting the Jonathan Hart Industries sign at his current office building, a busy 1950s San Francisco street corner, eating Sunday dinner at Max's apartment in San Francisco, Jennifer's eyes as she turned toward him after the " _WILL… YOU… MARRY… ME?"_ banners fell from high atop Tower Bridge on that unforgettable day in London, taking Jennifer's hand from her father's after watching her walk down the isle on their wedding day, the giant H separating as the front gate of their home on Willow Pond Road opens, Max pouring coffee for him and Jennifer at the kitchen table the morning before leaving for Vancouver. The memories were flashing in and out in exquisite detail in a way that made it feel like slow motion. And throughout the entire montage rang a deafening medley of gravely instructions, admonishments, accolades, questions, and simple greetings, each initiated or punctuated with that familiar _'Mr. H.'_ that Max insisted on calling him.

After several minutes with no response she spoke again, "Jonathan, how about we trade places?"

Still nothing from Jonathan, not even an acknowledgement of her voice, which was rare. Jennifer wanted to allow him the time he needed to process whatever was going through his mind, but at the same time the curious eyes from the nuns walking through the courtyard at the moment were hastening her desire to get going. After all, time was ticking and the nuns were probably growing anxious as the front gate remained opened at the convent.

"Come on," she said as she opened her door and got out of the car.

Jonathan was pulled back to reality when he saw her get out. "Where are you going?" he asked. But she couldn't hear him from outside of the vehicle.

She walked around to the driver's side and opened his door.

"Up," she said.

"What?"

"Up. Rise. Ten-hut," she continued as she pulled gently on his arm.

"Darling," he chuckled, "what are you doing?"

"Jonathan, I am relieving you of duty."

"Relieving me of—"

"—Duty," she finished for him. "Yes. Get out."

"Hmh," he laughed through closed lips.

At that, he got out of the car and faced his wife. She smiled politely and offered up her empty palm. He smiled back and placed his hand softly on top of hers.

"Uh-uh," she shook her head.

Jonathan removed his hand with a pout. She simply wiggled the fingers in her outstretched hand.

"What?" he asked.

She cleared her throat and wiggled her fingers again, her eyes fixed directly at his questioning baby blues.

"Oh," he said as a look of enlightenment spread across his face.

He lifted his other hand and dropped his keys into her palm. "I promise, officer, I haven't been drinking."

"Very funny."

"Seriously, darling, you don't have to drive. I'm fine."

"You sure are fine, mista," she mused in her best Brooklyn accent. "But the car don't drive on good looks." She considered him up and down before swatting him playfully on the backside. "Even ones as good as you. Get in. My meta's runnin'."

As she turned to get into the car he reached out and gently pulled her back to face him.

"Really, Jonathan, I don't mind driving and you can—"

Jonathan had gently hooked his finger under her chin and tipped her head just enough to cover her moving lips with his own and stifle her words. He attempted to convey a million emotions all at once — it was easier than putting his feelings into words at that particular moment. Jennifer was overcome by the sincerity behind each vulnerable touch of his lips against hers. She melted into him and for a brief moment they were swept into their own private universe where time stood still and they could read each others' thoughts.

"Jennifer," he whispered as their lips separated, his emotions preventing him from producing audible sound.

"I know, darling," she softly replied, resting the tip of her index finger on his closed lips. "Let's just get home."

"Just a second," he said, attempting to freeze their position for just a little while longer, as if it would keep time from moving forward somehow.

"What?" she asked softly.

"It's just—" He paused briefly attempting to summon the right words to tell her how he was feeling, but all that came out was, "I'm sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry for." She smiled and made as if she was brushing something off the front of his shirt.

Wrapping his arms around her even tighter he buried his face into her mass of thick, lose curls and breathed in that familiar clean scent with a hint of cherry that he loved so much. "Thank you," he whispered softly as he exhaled.

"For what?"

"For always knowing exactly what to do and say." He paused, taking another opportunity to breathe her in. "And knowing just when to say nothing at all," he said with his face still buried in her hair.

"Hmh," Jennifer chuckled ever so softly into his shoulder expressing the irony she found in his comment. "I'm glad you see it that way because it's not like I'm working from a plan or anything. I'm pretty much running blind here, darling. I am just as worried about Max as you are."

"I know." Jonathan pulled back enough to see the concern in her eyes. "But it's true. I don't think I could have gotten through that in there without you. I don't know how I'd get through any of this without you. You just make everything better." He watched the worry in her eyes melt ever so slightly causing a hint of a smile to form just at the corners of his lips. "I love you so much, darling. I really do."

"I love you, too."

 **H2H H2H**

Max was restless as he fumbled around the small bedroom for what seemed like the fiftieth time. He had picked through the contents of the closet and the bedside table drawer over and over thinking with each successive attempt that maybe there was something he was overlooking, something that might help him persuade his captors to let him go or possibly even help him escape. But so far he couldn't figure how any of the items could help him. He was determined to keep at it, though.

"What would Mr. H. do?" He thought out loud. "He would find a way to get outta here, that's for sure. Come on Max, think."

He opened the closet one more time. His eyes scanned the three moth-eaten suit coats, eight shirts, and seven pairs of slacks hanging on the rod. He had been through every pocket at least three times, enough to know that the brown slacks had a tear in the inseam that needed a repair and that all of the shirts, except for the pink one, were suffering from serious ring-around-the-collar and underarm stains. He contemplated examining them a fourth time but decided against it.

He pulled the suitcase off from the shelf above the clothes rod one more time thinking, maybe, there was something at the back of the shelf that he just couldn't quite reach or see from his vantage point. He reached around the shelf blindly, but his hand found nothing but bare shelf. He knew it was no use opening the suitcase again. He'd been through every zippered pocket that lined the inside of the hard, empty case several times already. There was nothing there but a residue of sand and crumbs, a disposable single-blade razor that had outlived its useful purpose, and a few half used bottles of hotel shampoo. He put the suitcase back up on the shelf and closed the closet door.

He walked back over to the window and opened the curtains. His vantage point told him the room faced the back of the house. There was an enclosed porch that protruded from the back of the house just beyond the bathroom that was connected to his room to the right. He couldn't see much more in that direction because of the porch. All of the curtains in the porch room were closed, so there was no way to know what the room was used for. To the left he could see an overgrown, unkept shrub that stood at what Max figured was the back corner of the house. The distance told him that there was at least one room between the room he was in and the corner. Below his window stood a weathered pile of wood, and leaning against that was a rusted out lawn swing among other rusted and broken equipment and tools. There was also a rusty old lawn tractor parked nearby. He knew that even if he could make it out through the window without alerting his captors, the noise that would ensue as he made his way down and through the yard would definitely arouse attention.

Beyond the tree line in the back of the property he could see a gray water tower. He could make out a partial letter on the far left — either an _m_ or an _n_ , or maybe an _h_. It was definitely the last half of the last letter of a word, but the rest of the word or words were on the other side of the tower. Did the water tower look familiar to him? He was trying to recall.

"There's a gray water tower out by the Murphy ranch," he said to himself. "But that don't have writing on it." He shook his head and continued to think. "There's definitely writing on this one. That's a letter for sure."

He looked at his watch and wound it a few times. _'still another hour before I can take more aspirin,'_ he thought to himself. The dull throb was returning which irritated him. He wanted desperately to be stronger. He knew that in his current state it would take everything he had in him to outsmart and overpower the little bald guy who he had taken to referring in his mind as 'Hatchet Head' because of his tattoo. He would need much more strength to take on both Hatchet Head and Richard. It didn't help that he was jonesing for a cigar, which he was certain was affecting his concentration and his mood.

There were three quick knocks on the bedroom door. Max stepped back from the window and turned toward the door just as it opened.

"Oh hey," said Hatchet Head as he entered the room, "you're lookin' much betta."

Max only grumbled indistinguishably.

"And you got empty dishes. That's good. That's good." Hatchet almost smiled. "I'll take 'em outta your way."

"Whatever," said Max. He was studying the man's every move. Max noticed he seemed a little more relaxed — less nervous, more confident than he'd been.

"Anything you particularly like I could get for youse at the market? I'm going there this afternoon." The little bald man was busily collecting dishes and stacking them together. He seemed like a completely different person in the way he almost bounced around the room. "Definitely getting more stuff for sandwiches and some hamburger meat. Oh, and pickles."

Max just scrunched his face, puzzled by the mousy man's change in demeanor.

"I mean, it's gonna be at least a few days before—" the man paused and looked up at Max. "—Ah… that is to say you never know how long youse is gonna be here. Might's well eat things you like."

"Trying to figure out what I might want for my _last meal_?"

"No. Not sayin' that at all."

"Tell you what," said Max in a much brighter tone, "why don't you send Dicky-the-Dirtbag back in here so that we can get on with whatever it is he's wantin' from me. No use draggin' things out."

"Dicky the…?" The man appeared visually confused at Max's comment.

"Your so-called boss."

"Right. Well um, he ain't here at this particular moment." His twitch, which had been absent since walking into the room, conspicuously returned.

"Well, tell that scumbag I wanna see him as soon as he gets back," Max huffed.

"Ah—I can't do that." The nervous man stood there for a moment seemingly unable to speak.

As he stood his twitching seemed to spread and eventually his hand was shaking. It got so bad that Max was concerned he might drop the dishes.

"Listen," said Max in a calmer voice, "just tell him his buddy, Max, has information for only his ears. No need to make him think you're not doin' your job or nothin.' Dicky and I go back a long ways. It's time he should tell me what I'm doin' here."

"See, I'd like to help you out n'all. Sincerely, I would. But... see... well..."

"Oh, I get it," Max rolled his eyes, his grumpy demeanor ramping up with each passing moment, "you talk all nice and _'what can I get you at the market?'_ But when push comes to shove you're just as much of a dirtbag as he is."

"That's not true!" the man shot back. "For your information, Richard is out of town for a few days. And I am a decent person!" He paused. Suddenly he seemed nervous. "Damn," he uttered under his breath.

"He's outta town?"

"Ah—" the man was clearly flustered. He turned toward the door saying, "No. I mean… he ain't gonna talk to you for a few days. That's what he said."

"He ain't gonna talk to me?" Max's curiosity was piqued. "You're serious? He actually told you he ain't gonna talk to me for a few days?" Max emphasized those last four words as he maneuvered around the man to where he could look him in the eyes. "Are you for real?"

The man tried his best to avoid eye contact with Max. "I'm tellin' youse that's what he said. Now I gotta get these dishes to the kitchen."

"Wait a minute," Max moved closer to the door.

"Hold it!" the little man shot back.

A sudden clarity washed over Max and he knew this to be a moment of opportunity. This was his chance to make a run for it! He attempted to push his way toward the opening door. But to his disappointment the man was just too quick — he slipped through the opening and slammed the door before Max could comprehend what happened.

"You may have won this round," Max yelled after the man through the closed door, "But—"

Max really wanted to give this man a good telling-off, but thought better of it. Instead, he shared a different frustration with the man. With as much honey he could conjure in his delivery he hollered, "Hey! I thought you were gonna take my order for the market?"

"Damn!" Max sputtered under his breath. "I should have asked him to get me some cigars while he was still feeling plucky."

 **H2H H2H**

"Nurse! Nurse!" A young woman was yelling from inside of room 642.

Two nurses came running toward the room from different directions. "What is it?" one of the nurses asked.

"My dad," said the young woman. "He's—"

"Oh!" said the other nurse as she noticed the man in the bed struggling against his NG tube. His eyes were wide and panicked. He was kicking his legs sporadically under the blanket, and his arms were making jerking movements trying to reach and pull at the tube protruding from his mouth. It was clear that his dexterity and muscle coordination was not well controlled. "We need to extubate," she announced as she quickly made her way to the patient's bedside.

"Mr. Withers, you're alright. Try to stay calm…Good…That's right. You're okay." Her voice was very calm and deliberate.

His eyes found hers and she sensed the shear panic he was feeling.

Her manner was very caring as she attended to Marcus Withers. "Yes, we are going to remove that tube. But I need you to try to calm down and listen…Shh. That's right."

The nurses made swift acton of talking Marcus through the process and then removing his breathing tube. When they'd finished, one of the nurses exited the room. The nurse who remained in the patient's room took time to explain to Marcus some things to expect after having a breathing tube for several days. But as she was explaining his eyes closed and he drifted off into unconsciousness once more.

"Mr. Withers?" The nurse gently shook his shoulder. After no response, she looked over his vital signs. His heart rate, which had risen during his agitated state, was now steady and back down to a more normal rate. She lifted his eyelids one at a time finding nothing concerning.

"What's happening?" asked the frantic young woman who had been frozen near the doorway until now, and was approaching the bed cautiously. "He was waking up, and now he's not moving. What's wrong?"

"Miss…um," the nurse began. "That is, ma'am—"

"Sandy. Sandy Rogers," said the young lady. "He's my dad," she said as she gestured toward Marcus.

"Ms. Rogers. There's nothing to be alarmed about at the moment," the nurse began. "It looks like your father is fighting his way back. He's just not quite ready to wake up yet."

"Not ready?"

"He's breathing completely unassisted on his own. That is a very good sign." She patted Sandy on the arm. "He's coming around. Just give him time."

As the nurse finished her assessment the other nurse returned with Sandy's mom.

"Mom!" Sandy rushed to her mother as she entered the room. "Dad opened his eyes! He was awake!"

Mary Sue hugged her daughter firmly, but was clearly distracted. Her eyes were scanning from her husband to the nurses and back again. As Sandy broke her hug Mary Sue walked over to the bed and reached out for her husband's hand.

"Is he really awake?" Mary Sue asked. "He still looks so lifeless."

The nurse that had stayed in the room with Sandy walked over to Mary Sue and placed a hand gently on her shoulder. "Mrs. Withers, your husband was fighting the ventilator, so we removed the tube he was breathing through."

"Fighting?" Mary Sue was visually confused.

Sandy walked up beside her mom and linked her arms with her. She leaned her temple against Mary Sue's shoulder.

The nurse continued to share what had just taken place with Marcus. "He was struggling against the ventilator because his own breathing was out of sync with the machine," she said. She further explained that the other nurse had gone to page Marcus's doctor. If Marcus continued to remain stable off the ventilator he would be moved out of the ICU within twenty-four hours. The doctor would need to evaluate Marcus before then and chart the order.

"This young lady is your daughter?" asked the nurse as she referred to Sandy.

"Yes," replied Mary Sue.

"Do you folks have a place you could go and get some rest?" asked the nurse.

Sandy spoke up. "Mom and Dad live down in Brooklyn Heights. But my husband and I live closer—near Columbia."

"They both teach at Columbia," Mary Sue softly boasted.

"Oh. That's nice." responded the nurse, cordially. "Might I suggest you plan to get out of the hospital and relax for the night."

"I don't want to leave him now," said Mary Sue. "He could wake up any moment. I want to be here if he does."

"I understand your desire to be right by his side every moment," said the nurse. "But we are going to clean him up and change his bedding. It's going to take a while. You might at least go somewhere to freshen up and grab a bite to eat. Get out of this hospital for a while. Mrs. Withers, I'm told you haven't left the hospital for maybe two days. Is that right?"

Mary Sue looked exhausted yet anxious. "I don't want to be gone if he wakes up," she insisted.

"Mom," offered Sandy, as she took both of her mom's hands in hers and turned her away from the bed, "why don't you at least come home and grab a shower and change?"

"I said—"

"Mrs. Withers," interjected the nurse, "It's alright. You can stay for a bit. Now that he's off the vent we can let you both stay in his room for another half hour or so. But then we will insist that he not be disturbed for the night. You can return as early as 7:30 am"

"But, what if he wakes up while I'm gone?" There was a definite ache in Mary Sue's voice. "I need to be here."

Just then, Marcus reached his hand toward Mary Sue. He brushed his finger tips against her leg and then his hand dropped back on the bed.

Mary Sue turned toward her husband. "Marcus? Marcus, dear? I'm hear." She took his hand in hers and began rubbing her thumb back and forth over his fingers. As she held his hand his grip on her hand tightened.

"Oh!" Mary Sue gasped. "He's…he's holding my hand. I mean, he's actually grabbing hold of it." She was smiling as tears ran down her cheek.

Marcus turned his head toward the ladies and opened his eyes. It was just a sliver, but they were open, and he was looking directly at Mary Sue. He opened his lips in an attempt to say something, but his mouth was too dry to speak.

"What is it," Mary Sue asked. "Tell me, dear. What do you need?"

Marcus struggled to get his mouth to cooperate with his brain.

"Shh. It's okay, dear. I'm here." Mary Sue leaned down and kissed her husband's cheek all the while still holding onto his hand. "Just relax. Everything's going to be okay."

Marcus's eyes were still focused directly at Mary Sue. He licked his lips and formed the beginnings of his first sounds, "Jah—" He let out a heavy sigh and tried again. "Jaah… Jon—"

"It's alright, my dear," said Mary Sue through tears. "Take your time."

The nurse was busying herself with keeping an eye on his vitals and checking all of the leads that were attached to his chest and abdomen.

"Jon…a…thhh…"

"Jonathan?" Mary Sue leaned in closer. "Don't worry, dear. He knows. I've already told him you're here. It's okay."

Marcus shook his head. He was determined to get the words out.

"N-n-no," Marcus stammered, somewhat impatiently. "T-tell Jon…I need…to tell Jonathan…Pete…" He sighed once again and closed his eyes.

Mary Sue and Sandy looked on intently.

"Oh, sweetheart. Don't overdo."

He took a deep breath and opened his eyes, determined to get the words out. "Tell…Jonathan it was Peters…Peterson. Hal Peterson. He…needs to stop Peterson…" He let out another deep sigh and relaxed against his pillow. His eyes had closed again.

"Peterson?" Mary Sue asked her husband. But he didn't seem to hear her. "Marcus?"

Marcus slowly turned his head toward his wife. He opened his eyes just a sliver and gave a meager but deliberate nod.

* * *

 **Much more to come! Drop a comment and share your thoughts.**


	9. Chapter 9

9

The soft jazz tones of the saxophone and light, steady tapping of the symbol argued with the staccato trumpet blasts as the interlude transitioned into the final chorus:

 _The world still is the same, you never change it  
_ _As sure as the stars shine above  
_ _Well, you're nobody 'til somebody loves you  
_ _So find yourself somebody to love_

The smooth vocal stylings of Dean Martin provided the soundtrack for the drive home. Their lack of conversation, while unusual, was no cause for concern as they found contentment in simple proximity while allowing the dashboard melodies to trespass on the tiresome rehashing of the whys and what ifs.

The car slid to a halt filling the only empty carport stall, creating the false impression that all inhabitants were now safely home. They sat soaking in the remainder of the song before she cut the engine, causing the silence to feel almost intrusive.

She drew in a deep breath and rubbed her hand up and down his forearm. The decision to drop by the police station on the way home only served to add to the challenge of the day, and the fatigue that had been kept at bay like an annoying fly that could be swatted away at will was threatening to become more aggressive. "Come on, darling. I'll put together something for dinner. You just relax for a bit," Jennifer offered before pouring herself out of the Mercedes.

Her shoes were arguing with her feet as she made her way toward the back door but a sudden ringing caused her to ignore the argument. Keys still in hand, she quickly unlocked the door and ran inside abandoning her purse in a kitchen chair. "Hello!" she blurted out as she flung the receiver to her ear. "Hello? He—"

"Who is it? Is it Hershel? Does he have information about Max?" Jonathan begged, his outstretched hand ushering toward the receiver as his other was tugging at the knot at his neck.

Jennifer placed the receiver back in the phone cradle and turned on her heal. "They hung up."

"I should call down to the station and see—"

"Jonathan," she patted his upper arm. "Let's just wait to see if they call back. It could have been anybody," she reassured him as she used his forearm to steady her one-footed stance. "Hmh," she grunted through her nose. She had easily stepped out of one shoe but the other was being stubborn.

"I know," he said, catching the collar of his suit coat as it slid off his arm. "But maybe they found prints on the photos or something."

"Oh, I'm sure they found plenty of fingerprints — ours." Her eyebrows flared and her eyes rolled back as she reached down to retrieve her shoes.

The slow clicking of lazy paws made their way through the kitchen and stoped at her feet just then. "Hi, baby," she said as she scratched behind his ears. "Has it been a quiet day? Did you miss us?"

Jonathan draped his coat over the back of same chair that held Jennifer's purse. He combed his hand through the side of his hair as a heavy sigh escaped his nose.

"Jonathan, I didn't mean—" She was still bent down giving attention to Freeway when she heard the sigh. "Oh darling, I wasn't saying that to make you feel bad."

"I know."

She looked up at him with the ball of fur cuddled up against her kneeling lap. "I'm sorry."

"No. You're right." He retrieved Freeway's leash from the hook by the door and bent down to clip it on him. "Good boy. Are you ready?" He kept his eyes on Freeway while scratching his muzzle and continued their conversation. "We should have taken them straight to the police station when we got them. That's my fault"

Jennifer laid her hand on his and gave it a squeeze. "Don't say that."

They stood in unison and he wrapped an arm around her waste. She tipped her head in an attempt to read his eyes. "Remember what Lt. Gray said. More than likely the people who sent them would have wiped any prints off before putting anything in that envelope. They are clues, for sure. But more of a puzzle meant for you."

"I know," he said as he laid his forehead against her shoulder. "It's just that I want there to be something...anything...that could give us definitive answers."

"I do too," she agreed. She stroked her fingers gently through his hair. "Listen, why don't you change into something more comfortable after you take him out and I'll get dinner around."

"I'm really not very hungry, darling."

"Neither am I. But you barely touched your lunch." She gently cupped his cheek in her palm and lifted his head, still trying to connect with his eyes. "Come on. You need to keep up your strength. Besides, you know how you get when you don't eat."

"Fuzzy headed." Their unison response served as an unintended mood-breaker. They both smiled and he pulled her closer to him.

"Okay. You win." He offered outstretched lips to which she accepted in a quick kiss. "But how about we both change and then we can work on dinner together?" More than anything he wasn't ready to sit, at least not in a quiet room by himself. Thirty seconds of silent stillness and he knew his eyelids would become too heavy to hold up and he wasn't ready for that.

"That sounds perfect," she smiled

The soft sneeze turned their attention to the mop at their feet. "Okay, Freeway. Let's go."

 **H2H | H2H**

"Please lock away your tray table, sir," she instructed as she worked her way along the aisle. "We will be taking off shortly."

Richard Ward was thumbing through the pages of the old comic book with a smirk of arrogant accomplishment. As the weight of the flight attendant's stare became heavier he gently pressed the cover of the comic book closed and lifted the delinquent tray table. He turned his gaze toward her and nodded with a polite smile.

"Thank you, sir. Enjoy your flight." She moved on, continuing her task of readying the passengers for their flight.

 **H2H | H2H**

He rubbed his hands up and down his face and brought them to rest in a prayer position over his lips as he stared at the streak of moonlight cast on the dark ceiling through the split in the curtains. _How can it be this difficult to fall asleep when I'm so exhausted?_ He was beginning to understand what it must be like for her those nights she gets up to read in the guest room so as not to disturb him when she can't sleep — which wasn't routine, but occasionally after one of their stressful adventures he would find her in there asleep in the rocking chair with a book on her lap. The waiting and the not being able to do anything about Max was wearing thin on his patience. It was so unlike him not to be right in the thick of attempting to solve the problem.

She rolled under the covers wrapping her arms tighter around the pillow and burrowing her upper back closer to his side. The moonlit silhouette of her brow and cheek was now playing a game of peak-a-boo from beneath her soft waves of hair as she slowly breathed in and out, begging him to roll over her and nuzzle his cheek against hers. But she deserved her sleep, and truth be told the idea of staring at his wife for hours while she slept was far more appealing than staring at words on a page or stumbling around an empty house in the dark.

He couldn't get over how grateful he was for this beautiful woman beside him — the way she comforted him after he finally put words to all that was running through his head that afternoon. _I don't deserve you_ , he thought to himself as he cupped his hands back over his cheeks and wiped at the corners of his eyes with his finger tips. _I don't deserve any of this. If it wasn't for Max…_

His thoughts turned to their earlier conversation. He and Max had told her many times about the way they met. But until tonight he had never really shared how badly he treated Max when Max was first looking out for him. Neither he nor Max ever spoke of it other than in a light hearted sense — a _"he was a bit of a punk kid"_ or a _"he wasn't exactly a model citizen"_ sense. Tonight was different. Tonight he revealed the part of himself he was most ashamed of and was only known to one other person…Max. He just couldn't get past the idea of never seeing him again.

 _His nimble twelve-year-old feet and skinny frame allowed him to easily weave between lazy shoppers and tired businessmen who lined the sidewalk going about their afternoon unaware of him. His bright blue eyes were big and his open-mouthed grin growing even bigger as he darted into the slow-moving traffic. His sun kissed brown hair, while not in keeping with the crew cuts most boys wore, danced handsomely in rhythm with his movements, except for the strays that stuck to the beads of sweat running down from his temples. It was a game to him to see how drivers reacted to his unpredictable weaving between vehicles while gaining easy ground on the angry shop keeper or hoodwinked customer he'd left in his dust. "Yes!" he thrilled under his heavy breathing as he rounded the corner and ducked into the alleyway._

 _He took a moment to catch his breath. Bent slightly with his hand on his knee he leaned out toward the street to steal a peak back along his previous path. At first he didn't see him. He grinned cheekily and swiped his bangs from his sweaty brow with the palm of his hand. Then he saw him, the man who once belonged to the $5 bill that was crumpled into his clammy left hand. He watched as the man scratched his head and swatted his fedora against his leg in frustration. He chuckled to himself as the man thew up his arms and slammed the hat back onto his head. He pocketed the bill and scratched at his nose with the back of his hand before turning and stepping smack into the stomach of an unexpected alley guest._

 _"Oof!—" The surprise of banging into the tall man would have knocked him over backward were it not for the athletic dexterity and balance of his lower limbs. "Hey! Watch it, mister."_

 _The man stood about six feet tall with a thick head of course auburn hair tapered closely around the ears and neck. A well-burned heater hung from the corner of a wide grin showing off his dimpled cheek. He wrapped his index finger around the cigar and removed it, offering up in a smooth, deep voice, "I think the words you was searchin' for was 'scuse me."_

 _Jonathan straightened up while again rubbing his nose, this time to ward off the sting from hitting it against the back of his hand when the front side hit the man's stomach. "You heard exactly what I meant to say. You were the one who nearly knocked me down."_

 _"Hmh," the man chuckled as he brushed at the front of his shirt. "Sorry, kid, but that ain't the way it went down."_

 _After hearing the man's voice again and shaking off the initial shock of the impact, Jonathan took a better look at the man. "Hey, I know you. You're that cabbie who parks outside of Lucky Louie's all the time."_

 _"True," agreed the man. "True. I have been known to frequent that establishment on occasion."_

 _"On occasion. Pfh," Jonathan puffed through vibrating lips with an exaggerated eye roll. "Whatever you say, mister. Catch ya later."_

 _Jonathan intended to dart off down the alleyway, but instead was held up when the man grabbed his arm._

 _"Hey! Let go!" Jonathan tugged at the man's hand, which was large and wasn't budging._

 _"I believe you have something that don't belong to you," said the man who remained composed and friendly, other than the hand around the boy's upper arm._

 _Jonathan bunched his face and shot him a sideways glare. "I don't know what you're talking about. How could I have something that doesn't belong to me? That doesn't make any sense. If I have something, then that something would have to be mine."_

 _The man pointed toward Jonathan's hip with his cigar while still holding tight with his other hand. "Turn out your pockets and we'll see about that."_

 _"No. You turn out your pockets," challenged Jonathan._

 _"Right," the man snorted. He placed the cigar back to his lips and held it with his teeth as he continued, "I do that and you're off with whatever I've got in two seconds. I know you, kid."_

 _Jonathan narrowed his eyes. "You don't know me. You don't know me at all."_

 _The man nodded pushing up his bottom lip. "I don't, do I? Well, I know you're name is Jonny and you live at that orphanage over there on Mission Street. I know you like to torment people on Friday afternoons and sometimes on Saturdays. How'm I doin' so far?"_

 _Jonathan swiped at his bangs again with a scowl and scratched at his ear. "That doesn't mean you know me. I know you hang out at Louie's all the time, so I guess that means I know you, too."_

 _Max tilted his head, intrigued by this boy's attitude and how well-articulated he was. He pondered his options as he watched the boy lick and chew at his bottom lip while eyeing his surroundings. This kid was smart. He was always aware of everything that happened around him. He knew the exact moment to move and had his path of escape worked out well before. He had seen him operate in different sections of the street on Friday afternoons over the course of the summer, and he had no idea what compelled him to confront the boy on this particular day. To be honest, he didn't really care about the money he'd stollen or anything else he'd swiped over the summer. He just had an unmistakable urge to want to keep the kid from getting into trouble. And if he'd already figured out this kid's game it was certain someone who wasn't so keen on keeping him out of trouble would figure it out soon enough._

 _"Tell you what, kid," said Max. "I'll let go of your arm if you promise to stay put. What d'ya say?"_

 _Jonathan lolled his head and then blew at the loose bangs hanging over his brow as he sharply swung his head backward. "I don't make promises. Nobody keeps them, anyway. So why should I make any?" He scowled as the hair fell back over his eye._

 _"Humor me, kid. Just stand still a minute, would ya?"_

 _Jonathan wiped his hand up the back of his neck and curled his fingers through the damp nape hair. He then attempted to plaster his bangs back with the collected sweat from his palm. "Why?"_

 _Max loosened his grip and pulled his cigar out of his mouth again, rolling it between his thumb and fingers. "I just want to —"_

 _At that, Jonathan was gone. He took off down the alley, climbed the fence at the end and kept running._

 _"Kid's got fire. I'll give'm that."_

 _The following Friday Max was sitting on a bar stool inside Lucky Louie's. He was making slow progress on a cup of black coffee while waiting on his usual Friday afternoon passenger to tire of his scotch, hoping it was soon. It usually happened right before the local offices closed and the place filled up with businessmen ready to blow part of their paycheck. The man was sitting at his regular table with three giggly ladies in low-cut blouses and high-cut skirts, one of which was new to the scene. Max rolled his cigar around in the oversized ashtray while he looked over Saturday's racing form._

 _"Need a refill, Maxie?" asked Louie, the owner and bartender, an average height balding man with a generous midsection. "Just brewed a fresh pot."_

 _"Nah. I'm good," Max returned without looking up._

 _"Anything promising this week?"_

 _Max looked up. "Got my eye on a filly in the fifth — Dancing Diamond."_

 _"She a favorite?" Louie placed two shot glasses on the bar and filled them with a golden-brown liquid and put the bottle back below the bar._

 _"Nah. A buddy of mine told me about her. Saturday's her first official race." He scratched behind his ear and looked back at the man he was waiting on. "Sheesh. I don't wanna have to shampoo my cab before the weekend. Can't you water that stuff down or something? This has gotta be the most he's had all year."_

 _"He's a paying customer," shrugged the barkeep. "And he don't skimp on the tip none, neither. I ain't messin' with that."_

 _"I know," nodded Max. "Why d'you think I can sit in here all afternoon? He definitely makes it worth my while. But give a guy a break." He rolled his eyes and returned them to the paper._

 _"So, this unknown? She gonna show?"_

 _"Hopefully more than that," Max picked up his cigar and chewed at the end. Smoke billowed from both sides of his mouth as he continued to share about the horse. "According to my buddy she's pulling unbelievable times."_

 _"If anyone has a knack for pickin' dark horses, it's you," he winked._

 _His eyes narrowed on Louie."Not if you jinx it." He looked down at his watch and then back toward his inebriated customer who had just then slammed his fist down on the table before spewing several loud, off-color remarks toward the ladies punctuated throughout with some very vulgar words._

 _Louie nodded at Max with a wink and then turned his attention to the foursome in the corner."What's the racket?" He yelled toward their table._

 _"Dammmn! That'ss aaall I neeeed," he slurred as he tipped to one side catching himself on the edge of the round table and nearly flipping it before completely falling out of his chair._

 _The bartender leaned toward Max and confided in an irritated voice, "You may get your wish. He may pass out right here and never make it to your cab."_

 _"Great." Max rolled his eyes and set a couple dollar bills on the bar as he turned to witness all three ladies stand in panic — one held the longest continuous scream Max had ever heard, while another was clutching her bosom with cries of, "Oh my Gawd! Oh my Gawd!" The third woman ran straight to the ladies room._

 _"What the—" Louie was bent over the man blocking Max's view. "Max, call an ambulance!...The phone behind the bar—" he gestured blindly toward Max while still facing the man._

 _"What happened?" Max was suddenly aware of his pulse. "What do I tell 'em?"_

 _"The number's on the wall beside the phone. This idiot landed on a large piece of broken glass. He's bleeding all over the place!" Louie turned on his knees toward the lady who was screaming and strongly grabbed hold of her wrist. She was so shocked by the event that she fell completely silent and stared at Louie, her eyes bulged. "And you," said Louie to the woman, "Go behind the bar and grab some clean towels."_

 _"Me?" she squeaked._

 _Max grabbed a handful of towels as he held the receiver to his ear and waved them in the air before setting them down on the bar top._

 _It was a frantic scene as Louie was attending to the bleeding man and forcing the hopelessly inept lady to help him. The other lady was now outside of the bathroom door arguing with the one who had locked herself inside. Max was moving the tables and chairs trying to clear a path for the emergency crew to get through the bar._

 _The chaos of those five people, one of whom was nearly unconscious, and the noise of the sliding tables and chairs made it feel like far more activity than it really was. That's why when young Jonathan Hart ran in through the front door in a panic nobody saw or heard him. He was trying to catch his breath as he leaned against the peanut barrel at the front end of the bar. He squinted his eyes attempting to adjust to the darkened room which was a stark contrast to the bright sunshine he had ducked out of. He wiped his forearm across his sweaty lip and looked around, his breathing still heavy. Then he heard it — the siren._

 _Max returned to the back side of the bar to get more towels without noticing the boy._

 _Jonathan crept out and around the front of the bar, slowly, keeping questioning eyes on the noisy group crouched low near the corner by the front window but always conscious of the front door. The siren was getting louder. He made his way around the front side of the bar, backing himself around the far end and crouching low. He stopped to listen. The siren seemed to be right outside the bar. He was chewing on his bottom lip as his heart felt like it might pound right through his throat._

 _It was at that moment that Max rounded from behind the bar and knocked right into the crouched form of the boy causing him to lose his footing and fall into the wall._

 _"Uhh!" Max spat._

 _"Oof!" Jonathan huffed._

 _"What the—" Max looked down to see what he had tripped on and found the boy laying on his side in a ball. "Where'd you come from?"_

 _"Don't you ever watch where you're going?" spouted Jonathan from the floor._

 _"Me?" Max's attention was suddenly diverted by two firemen blasting through the front door._

 _Jonathan took that opportunity to roll himself behind the bar and tuck completely under the overhang._

 _If Max hadn't witnessed it out of the corner of his eye he would have never realized that the boy was even under there for the way he had hidden himself so stealthily. He paused for a moment to consider the situation and decided that the bleeding man was a bigger priority at the moment. He stepped one foot back behind the bar and said in a low voice from the corner of his mouth while his eyes were on the emergency personnel who were now entering with a stretcher, "Don't think you're off the hook with me."_

 _His intention was to rush over to help with the accident, but something caught his eye as he was turning from the bar. He hadn't seen that look in a long time. It was the look of sheer panic. The boy was actually trembling. His eyes were as big as saucers and were fixed on a spot on the floor. He was crouched low nearly sitting on his heals with one hand clutching his knees and the other steadying himself on the filthy trash can. It was difficult to tell whether the boy had heard him or even knew he was standing there in front of him. Max felt a twinge in his stomach that spread to his extremities, something between tingling and numbness._

 _The feeling was unexpectedly familiar yet acutely unwelcome. It was a feeling that took him immediately back to a bombed out building in a small French village during the war. He could see the boy crouched beneath the staircase, his face streaked with dirt and dried sweat. He couldn't have been more than ten, maybe twelve years old. His pants wore holes in both knees, one torn half way to his ankle with shreds of fabric hanging to the side exposing the grimy nob of that knee completely. His jacket was so thin that it couldn't possibly be keeping him warm enough. Fringes of light brown hair caked with oil and dirt fell out from beneath a tattered flat cap. Catching Max's eyes he looked scared to death! "It's okay. We're here to help," Max remembers saying — or maybe hearing. He couldn't remember. He remembered seeing his captain approach the boy. He mostly remembered the yelling — his own yelling. "No!" He didn't see it happen, but the sound…that sound was deafening. The boy had darted out from under the stairs, down the hall, and out of the building. And in a breath he was gone forever._

 _Max returned to the bar with a jerk. The noise of the room felt muffled. He could see the emergency team attending to the man on the floor. Louie was talking, but he couldn't make out what he was saying. Did it matter? He was talking to one of the fire fighters. He shook his head. The sounds of the commotion were once again crisp. And his comfort level was falling at a rapid pace._

 _He looked down at the boy under the bar, his only thoughts, relevant or not, were focused on how to get him out of there._

 _"Come on, kid," Max knelt down to face the boy at eye level. "Let's you and me skedaddle."_


End file.
